


A New Year

by And_all_the_other_buns



Category: November (Kabi)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Attempted Sexual Assault, CarrierVerse, Descriptions of child birth, Domestic Violence, Forced Marriage, Gender Roles, Intersex, M/M, Mentions of war and terrorism, Misogyny, Mpreg, Post-Apocalypse, Romance, Self Harm, Sexism, Sexual Violence, Trans Issues, descriptions of anatomy, trying to deal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2019-08-26 22:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 44
Words: 172,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16690237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/And_all_the_other_buns/pseuds/And_all_the_other_buns
Summary: Eric was too young to remember the war, the plague, the way they lived before hubris and hatred crashed the population, killing off nearly every woman and, with them, any hope for a future.Eric was too young to remember his mother, or anyone's mother; he was an Endgame Child, born in the final hours of the old world. He was part of the final generation. At least, until the genetic apocalypse began to mutate, creating within a few men the ability to carry a child. What should be seen as holy salvation was, instead, a commodity for a desperate world, and to most, Changing was synonymous with Death.Eric was too young to remember any of this, but at 17, he wasn't too young to change.





	1. Arrival at the Gates of Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kabi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabi/gifts).
  * Inspired by [November](https://archiveofourown.org/works/194173) by [Kabi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabi/pseuds/Kabi). 



> Once upon a bazillion years ago, I came upon Kabi's November series and it changed by little trans (unknown at the time) life. She made a world that was both disastrous and intriguing, exploring themes of sexism, gender identity and autonomy before I even had words for such things. She has given me permission to write in her world, and I thank her for it.
> 
> I have put in earnest attempts to build a world from her world's history and backstory, graciously borrowing her concepts of global war, militarization and government control, but I do not claim a perfect fit with her own world, and have changed or elaborated on some timeline dates or facts about the change or this world to suit my own narrative.

Eric was too young to remember the war. He'd been tucked warm and tight in his mothers womb during its last days, while the world lost itself to fury and fire. Those just a few years older than him, mates from school, they spoke of half-buried memories of screaming and machine guns. Even now some of the buildings in town bore bullet holes, worn smooth around the edges.

Eric was too young to remember the plague, too. It raced through the world as his mother carried him inside. From what he could figure, she might have barely even known she was pregnant when the bomb fell, when her sisters of the world began to die at alarming, then terrifying rates. One by one, Eric knew, the cities fell, precious few women surviving the way the chemicals tore apart their bodies at the molecular level, shredding cells and DNA like a hellish strain of Ebola. The fraction of a percent who lived were left barren and terrified, scarred by a world changing too, too fast.

Eric was too young to be born when he was, almost 3 months early, but there had been little choice in the matter. As their town had finally succumbed to the plague, his mother knew death awaited her. She had barely made it to the hospital before she began to bleed and her heart gave out. Like a macabre page from mythology, Eric was pulled, blue and silent, from a corpse. 

Eric liked to think, had she lived, his mother would have loved him, even if 17 was really too young to be a mother. 

Within another 2 weeks, the plague had fizzled out, having no one left to carry off. 97% of the known female populace dead, 100% of the survivors left sterile, terrified. 100% of the world left in ruins, wondering hopelessly, what could possibly come next.

For Eric and the other boys like him, though, they knew nothing else. They were Endgame Children, born within the five months between the first and final death, and for thirteen years, they were all that was left. They went to rag-tag kindergartens, taught by hollow, desperate men who looked at rooms full of six year olds and wondered what even was the point in teaching a dead world. The boys, though, the children, they carried on as children of any generation, not truly understanding what it meant to be the Last Generation. Eric played outside with friends, clambering ruins and bomb pits, making playgrounds of open fallout shelters. Their fathers tended to fall into one of two categories; letting them do whatever they wanted because they were all dead anyway, and being terrifyingly protective of their final sons. Somehow, Eric lucked out, having a father with a fairly balanced mind about the whole thing. Eric was loved, Eric was protected, Eric was educated and tended to and allowed to run free.

Of course, even the most neglectful fathers started to pay attention when the change began. Rumors were all that reached them first; television and radio broadcasting was still spotty in areas, and by the time they knew for sure that this mutation was happening, the first few children were born, the first babies in well over a decade.

Eric was nearly 14, and he and the other Endgame Children looked on with curiosity and delight and horror. None of them had ever seen a real, actual human baby, and when one of the officers at their middle school suddenly dissapeared and then reappeared a year later holding one in his arms, they had all been captivated. Their fathers, their uncles, their teachers and doctors and grocers alike, they all celebrated this time of hope for the world. A second chance, they whispered. A gift from God, some swore. A blessing. Well, for all but the ones whom the change took hold. It was so rare, so sporadic, that Eric knew of only a tiny handful in his young life. Strong, capable men who came back looking terrified and startled and sick, wearing gold bands around their fingers and pretty pins in their hair.

"It's how women use to look," his father had told him, pointing out the dresses and painted faces in the few old movies still around, or the art in his textbooks. "Everyone is just desperate for a taste of how things use to be. It's gonna settle out soon."

It didn't. Soon there were schools set up for those men to be sent to, soon the government began to set up a new draft of sorts, setting laws in place and harsh punishments for any 'new woman' or 'neo female' or 'carrier' who refused to present himself for registry.

To Eric, this made sense. Military life was completely integrated into his bones. The Last Generation knew nothing else but patriotism, devotion, giving everything to the Union. Carriers, they learned at school, were our most precious resource and the very key to survival. Carriers, his dad told him, were very special and he should go out of his way to be nothing but kind to any he met. Life would be very scary for them.

Eric was seventeen; too young to know a world of women, too young to remember a life that still shaped the ways of the old men, too young to know better than to follow the only way he knew.

But Eric wasn't too young to change. 

)o(

He was lucky. At least that's what the internet said. Lucky that his pains had started slow, giving him time to set affairs in order and pack some bags of comforting items. Time to think about this "miraculous and joyful time" in his life, "second only in blessings to the birth of your future children."

This mutation had struck only 4 years ago, but already there was an absolute flood of information about it, some of which might even be real. Medical papers, self help websites, government rulings, forums and message boards and chat rooms. Literally everyone and their dog had an opinion on the tissue regrowing and shaping itself within his abdomen. And he knew, beyond any doubt, that's what it was. Sure, the pains of changing might be mistaken for a bad fish dinner at first, and he'd heard more than one story of a man going in for what he thought was appendicitis only to leave with a new husband ("Medical Mystery Ends in Miracle", proclaimed one newspaper fluff piece.) Eric, however, had his appendix removed when he was 12, and hadn't eaten anything bad that he could name. With shaking fingers, he clicked back to one of the 1500 tabs he had open on his laptop.

1- intense pain in the lower abdomen and perineum- may be sudden or gradual. If gradual, pain becomes unbearable within 48 hours.

Eric shifted uncomfortably, a burning sensation having started down between his legs a few hours ago to pair with his aching belly. Check.

2- Sensitivity, tenderness and a bruise-like ache in the scrotum, followed swiftly by a diminish in size.

Yeah. Ow. Check. 

3- Bruising and bleeding from the aforementioned areas.

Thank God he didn't have that yet, but the first two, especially the second, was enough. As far as he knew, from a lot of internet searching, there wasn't any other known cause to make a mans balls literally start to shrink, sudden cold snaps notwithstanding.

Knowing, though, did nothing to fix the problem.

Eric sighed, and flung himself back onto his bed, curling onto his side to try and loosen the pain in his middle. Changing. He was changing. He was 17 years old and, apparently, a carrier...Jesus fuck. Knees tucked a little bit higher , he reached up for Bartholomew, his stuffed rabbit and constant companion since he was five. Not that he shared that information with the kids at school or his brother or anyone else. Mew had been a gift from his dad, one of the nicest presents he'd been able to afford his last son. Once minky and fluffy, the brown bunny now had that worn, semi-matted feel of a toy much loved but well tended to, and he buried his face between the long, floppy ears.

Carrier...well, this was goodbye to university, then. Not that he had much chance of getting in- ones grades had to be phenomenal to escape the mandatory enlistment and service in the military. Ok then, this was goodbye to 7 required years in the army, guarding borders that no one crossed and manning bombs no one was willing to use. No good-enough dreams of climbing up the ranks to a nice title, government housing, maybe a partner someday. Eric laughed to himself, feeling the fur on the back of Mew's head warm with his breath. That was a guarantee now, at least. Single carrier was an oxymoron. No one spent more than a year or so without a wedding ring, and he wasn't fool enough to expect that he'd be any different.

A fresh wave rolled through his stomach, and he drew in a sharp breath. It was starting to feel like something was boring a hole below his navel, clawing out handfuls of meat and blood and viscera. Grit teeth and clenched hands, he breathed through it, trying to not think about how someone online had said changing pains were nothing compared to labor pains. There wasn't any way in hell Eric was ready to think about that eventuality in the least bit. 

Finally the pain eased, and he unfurled one leg experimentally, always afraid that with every movement he might feel the warm, stickiness of blood as his body began to eat away at its own tissue. Tears in his eyes, breath heavy in his chest, Eric looked down at the minty green sheets of his bed, not wanting to think about them stained like a macabre Christmas cloth. Warm brown eyes lifted to roam over his small bedroom, magazine clippings and sketches covering the worst water stains and chipped plaster of their walls. A few certificates from school, clothes spilling out from his laundry basket. A frayed excuse for a soccer ball, hand-me-down sneakers from his brother, snapshots of him and his friends on the last day middle school. A good year- a great year, even. I twas the year the first babies were born again, the year another generation began and they weren't the last, not anymore, maybe not ever again. 

Eric, having grown up with the knowledge that the world would die with him, and the boys like him, had been happy, but it was a distant joy, one unconnected with his immediate life of soccer games in the streets and reading with his father at night. Now, that worldwide 'joy' was ripping apart his belly, threatening to spill all across his private sanctuary, and he knew he couldn't...just couldn't...taint this place like that. It was a nightmare to think about such a mess, or his father finding him howling, out of his mind with pain, or officers from the Stillwater Center barging in to haul him away. It would all be ruined, then...So he got up, and he grabbed his school bag, emptying it of papers and pens and leftover wrappers, and filled it with clean clothes, his favorite books, a set of felt-tip pens in neon colors, several snack bars, a book of word puzzles and, of course, Mew. Last, he made sure he had his wallet, his school ID, and all 16 dollars he had in cash.

The door locked behind him easily, and he pocketed the key, even though he knew he wouldn't be needing it again. They wouldn't allow him back to his home alone, he knew that.

Carefully, Eric arranged his face into casual indifference, slung his bag over one shoulder, and began his walk down the main roads; he was lucky the Stillwater CEC was between his house and ramshackle assortment of business they called a mall; nobody would ask why he was headed west, nobody would wonder, nobody would know.

)o(

Stillwater was well guarded, as he assumed every CEC was, though he supposed if they had a choice they wouldn't have plopped it in the remnants of a hollowed-out store, the shadow of a large letter K still visible behind the not-big-enough sign.

"Stillwater Carrier Education Center- Raising Hope For The Future"

Gag.

The entire lot was surrounded by a ten foot fence, topped with a single wire. TO keep people out, it was said, but he knew it was just as much to keep people in, and as he drew nearer the gate, everything was yelling at him that this was such a bad, bad, BAD idea! This was crazy, and his heart pounded away at his chest. What the fuck was he doing? He was a lamb walking right up to the rancher for slaughter, pretty woolen neck tipped back to be bled! But another pain between his legs shut him up well. THATS why. Because he had school tomorrow, and absences were suspicious, because he knew within a few hours he'd be in too much pain to be alone, because he'd be taken to a hospital and they'd KNOW and he couldn't run away...because being able to walk inside and turn himself in on his own accord might be the last choice he ever got to make for himself.

Two guards, full uniforms, armed, ranks displayed proudly on broad chests, stood at the gate, and peered down at him. Eric was nothing so powerful, and never had been. His father was a skinny thing, as was his older brother, and considering how much they had to scrape by for food growing up, he wasn't exactly built like a tank.

"Keep moving, kid, you don't need to be sniffing around here," he urged on, and Eric saw his grip on his rifle move ever so slightly. God but he wanted to take his advice, turn tail and run to the mall, catch a movie, maybe, or see if any of his friends was hanging around in the parking lot. But that couldn't happen. His friends, he trusted. Their dads, not so much. Raising his chin up, Eric clung to the strap on his bag even harder and forced words to leave his mouth.

"I...I'm...I'm here to..." and his words faltered. To surrender? to turn himself in? TO give up? none of those fit, and each added pain to his already tormented stomach. Swallowing with difficulty, he shivered in the cold February air and tried to stand as tall and proud as he could muster.

"I'm here to register, sir."

)o(

Eric wondered if he was ever going to get a minute alone again, if the last hour was anything to go by. As soon as he was escorted inside (and by an armed guard, how special) he was herded through several sets of locked metal doors,down a back hallway, and finally into what looked like an in between of hospital and infirmary. Name, age, date of birth, height, weight, blood type, fathers name, number, school, registry number, so many things asked of him. Primary care doctor, diet, exercise, ethnic ancestry, by the end of it Eric was just staring ahead at the half dozen people wanting to know everything possible about him, sure that some of them were just there because they wanted to be a part of things and another to distract him while someone jabbed his arm with a needle and drew about a pint of blood. Some shuffled away, others came up to fill their void, but he was never without an audience of five or 6, plus the guard at the door.

"Can you tell me when your pains started, Eric?" asked the man he finally surmised was the actual doctor here.

"Um...my stomach hurt yesterday, but I didn't...think anything of it.." Eric muttered, starting to space out a little bit, feeling unable to breathe with the crowd and the growing reality of what he had done. "But today um..it got worse. Hurts...worse than before?"

Every word he said was written down, and he shifted again, wanting another blanket. This thin cotton hospital gown did little in the way of heat conservation.

"And has there been blood yet?"

"No...no, I don't think so...the internet said that's normal though...is it? Normal I mean? Cause maybe this is...maybe I'm wrong? I might not be-"

"Eric," The doctor said gently, lowering hi folder a little. He was young, maybe mid thirties, but his hair was heavily greyed. "Eric...I know this is frightening, but from what you've said it sounds like you're changing. We're running blood tests, and I'm going to do a quick exam to see-"

Eric's legs snapped shut faster than a prostitutes in church, and the doctor sighed.

"I know, Eric, I know, but it'll be quick, thirty seconds tops ok? I need to see if there's any sign of swelling in the perineum yet, and see how retracted you've become-"

"It won't hurt, Eric, I promise, and I'll stay with you."

That soft voice belonged to Taylor- or was it Tyler? He couldn't remember, but he was an older carrier, maybe late 20's, with short, razor-cut black hair and narrow almond eyes. He hadn't been out of arms reach from Eric since he got here, and he guessed the older man was some sort of advocate or some shit.

With a gentle smile, he continued, "it really will take less than a minute, and once we're sure of whats going on, we can get you on something for the pain, call your family, get you comfortable hm?"

Eric hated how soothing this fucker was, and he tried to nod his head, but everything was so fast and so scary and he felt so weird-!

Taylor seemed to know he was going to be sick before he did, since he'd grabbed the waste basket at an impressive speed, holding it under his chin and not even wincing as Eric threw up violently. Soft, gentle, a warm hand rubbed between his shoulder blades, encouraging him to just get it up, it's normal, it's fine.

"Can you get some juice and crackers for him?" he asked of a young nurse, who nodded, left, and returned a few minutes later with a carton of grape juice.

/Stab/ went thr straw into the little foil circle, and he held it for Eric to sip.

"You're scared, and your body is going through absolute hell right now. Your blood sugar is gonna be tanking for the next week or so if you don't eat every couple hours, ok? Tell you what though, if you eat all the gross stuff they shove in front of you, you can usually wheedle them into some ice cream or chocolate." Another conspiratory wink, as though the staff behind him couldn't hear.

Eric drank, if for no other reason than to get the sour taste from his mouth, and ate one peanut butter sandwich cracker; he couldn't do two, which was noted, but not further commented on. 

The exam was a blur. he was laid onto his back, his gown pulled up. Cold, gloved hands, a hiss because everything felt so swollen and bruised, nice chatter fro Taylor about it's almost over, and then he can nap, and hey, they get the good drugs here for the change, he's gonna be comfy, and safe, it's fine-

And it was done. Gloves snapped into the bin, gown rearranged, the doctor proclaiming everything fine, that the bleeding would start within a few hours. let him rest, call his dad.

Dad...god damn it. Dad left that morning for his shift as the power plant, and he'd come home to one less son and one more /carrier./

Taylor pressed a corded phone into his hand, and showed him how to dial out.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" he offered, and Eric found himself nodding. Fingers hesitated over the numbers, and then flicked back up to Taylor.

"My...my bag-"

"It's being looked through, sweetie, to make sure everything is what you can have."

"Yeah but...could you get me something? My...um...I've got a...a rabbit. My dad gave him...to me..."

Hesitating, Taylor looked behind them at the guard, at the door, mumbled something about not being sure if...

"...I can see, ok? I'll see if they'll make an exception." and with that he was alone with the guard. Eric supposed he ought to be afraid; carriers were suppose to be terrified of men, as though they weren't men, as though they were gazelles running quick from a prowling lion. But the guard was no threat, he knew that. Sterile, impotent, castrated, damaged from radiation or even intersex men unaware of their condition before the plague fucked them up, only those who were no threat could be trusted to watch over carriers.

It was only a few minutes later that Taylor bounced back in, waving Mew triumphantly above his head.

"Victory is ours!" he announced, passing the much-loved toy over to Eric, who clung to him desperately. Mew still smelled like home, and he used him to drown out the reek of latex and antiseptic and eu de vomit.

"...do you know the number?" Taylor asked after a moment, handing the phone back to Eric. "You're a minor, so your guardian has to be called..."

"I know it," he said quietly, taking the phone from him. Dial 9, then the factory number, the department extension, his sub division. It wasn't until he reached the foreman that Eric's mouth dried up.

"M...M...Mr. Garcia? This is uh...can...can I speak to Mitchel McDaugh please? This is his son, Eric...no, sir, it's an emergency...no, a real emergency, please-! ...alright. Yeah, I'll hold."

The line went quiet as, supposedly, his dad was called, and for a little over a minute all Eric could hear was his heart pounding. He nearly leapt off the bed when his father's voice reached him.

"Eric?? Jesus Eric are you ok? Juan said it's an emergency, are you alright??"

"...I'm...I'm uh...'m ok, but-"

"Shit, did you get picked up? I told you to stop throwing shit off buildings, Eric-"

"Dad, no!' I'm not...I'm....'m in the hospital..." he finally murmured, tears starting to burn behind his eyes. He hated how small his voice sounded, how far away.

"What? Hospital...shit, Eric, whats wrong? What hospital?"

As he clenched his eyes closed, he felt hot, wet tracks run down his face, and he heard Taylor move around and felt him press a box of tissue in his hand. Tighter and tighter he clung to Mew, his hands trembling.

"Eric?!"

"Uh...Dad, I'm...I'm at Stillwater."

Silence reached him through the phone as his father struggled for words; in the background he heard the sparks of the welders going off, men yelling at each other, but Mitchel was quiet.

Desperate to fill that void, Eric began to throw up words as quick as he threw up his supper earlier.

"Daddy, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't want to...it hurt and I was getting sick and Taylor says you can come stay with me a bit if you want to...shit, I'm just...if you don't wanna it's ok, it sucks here, it's cold, I don't feel good, I don't wanna have babies or get married I wanna come home, I'm sorry-!"

"Eric, child, hush now, hush," his father finally found his voice. "Don't be sorry, Eric, this is n-normal, this is ok, I love you. Eric baby, is there an adult around I can talk to? Get some information from?"

Dumbly, Eric held the phone out to Taylor, who took it, neon orange nails clicking against the beige plastic.

"Hello, Mr. McDaugh? This is Taylor Park, I'm a dorm leader at the Stillwater CEC...yes, Sir, Eric is holding up fine, he's lying down now, he's going to have a bit of a rest...yes, Sir, we're sure, but the doctors are running blood tests just to be /extra/ sure...Sir, your son came to us...yes, he's very brave, he made a very noble choice, you should be proud ... ... ... no, Sir, I've actually been married three years now, but I don't...one, and ah...another on the way, of course...Mr. McDaugh, listen, I have the address here, and if I can get some information from you, we can have you escorted in straight back to be with your son as soon as you get here...yes, that's right...ok, great! Now let's see, please spell your full name?"

Eric curled his body tighter, like a shrimp, around Taylors hips as he chatted on the edge of his bed, jotting down his fathers words and numbers onto a pad of baby pink paper with a purple pen; he seemed to really like his garish colors. Must be a carrier thing. Eric felt like gagging again, but honestly he was feeling too tired and too cold to bother with that shit, so he nestled further under his sheets, tighter around Taylor (who cradled the phone against his shoulder so he could pet Eric's sandy hair as he wrote) and finally, Eric began to slip away to sleep.


	2. The Fourth Circle

"Hey, baby boy, wake up...Eric, sweetie, it's dad, you there sweetheart?"

No, no Eric was not there and neither did he want to be. Waking up here was the absolute opposite of what he wanted. He would much rather be left to his vague, foggy dreams, where his body wasn't betraying him. He wanted to wake in his own bedroom to go get ready to school rather than in a hospital bed awaiting an uncertain day, month, lifetime ahead. 

"Eric, it's daddy, come on, you need to wake up ok? I think your friend might have an aneurysm if you don't wake up and eat something.

Slowly Eric forced himself to open his eyes, all but hissing at the bright hospital lights flooding the small room. Maybe they were on a timer, he thought, wondering why else they would be left on.

"There's my brave little boy," Mitchel praised, and Eric could feel his dad's hand starting to pet through his hair. Nuzzling into the touch, he shakily pressed himself up onto one elbow. This was harder than he'd like to admit; his muscles ached and he shook as though he was starting a bad flu. With what coordination he could muster, he raised his other arm to scrub his eyes with the back of his hand, and let the hands around him help pull him upright, sitting half-propped against the pillows behind him.

Immediately, he felt something unfortunately damp and sticky and bulky between his legs, and without pause for embarrassment, he reached down between his thighs, turning brilliantly scarlet as he felt the thick padding in his fitted underwear. Right, the bleeding, the doctor had mentioned it would start soon. Only a moment after, he finally noticed the IV line running to his left forearm, and he followed the clear plastic tubing up to a couple half-full bags hanging at his bedside.

"One's just saline, sugar water, to keep your fluids up," a newly familiar voice explained patiently. "The other is a painkiller, a nice steady dose to help get you through this next week, hm?"

God damn it it was almost laughable to see Taylor and his father sit right next to each other. Dad was thin but rugged, wrinkled from so many years behind a welding arc, flyaway hair turning grey in his too-early old age. Still in his work coveralls, he'd washed his hands and face of most of the grease, but his clothes still bore the signs, as did his calloused skin and broken nails.

Taylor, on the other hand, though taller than dad, with broad, strong shoulders, sat delicately with his ankles crossed, pixie-cut hair pulled into a few sparkly pins; neon, to match his nails and the bracelets on his wrists. Eric blinked slowly between them, wondering what each would look like in position of the other.

"Morning, kiddo," his dad greeted, smiling stiffly; this was obviously awkward for him, and Eric pulled his thick, starched sheets up higher over his lap, smoothing them with nervous hands.

"Hey, dad," he whispered with a croak, and Taylor handed him a cup of water, also indicating another box of sugary fruit juice on his bedside table. Sipping gratefully, he wet his throat before speaking again. "Th...thanks for...um...did they let you off work without trouble?"

Mitchel nodded. "Don't worry about it, Eric. Told them you were in the hospital. It's mostly true...I didn't tell Daniel yet, I didn't know if you'd want-"

"Yeah, no, that's...that's fine," he murmured, putting down the water and going for the juice, just wanting to keep his hands moving. "I mean, he's gonna know, um...yeah...Hey, um, I'm cold, can I-?" God, it was like his brain and mouth couldn't cooperate to make words, and he wondered just what, exactly, it was flowing into his bloodstream.

"Course, honey, it's cold as balls in here, isn't it? And you're gonna have a slight temperature for a while, so I'm sure that doesn't help," Taylor quipped as he hopped up to search through a plastic-doored cabinet next to the sink, pulling out a blue woven blanket, "Stillwater CEC" printed in bold black letters in one corner.

Eric made sure to flip it print-side-down before pulling it over his chest and shoulders. Taylor reminded him quietly to be mindful of his IV, but Eric barely heard, just nodded dismissively as the room grew quiet.

So terribly, powerfully, awkwardly quiet.

"So Eric, I'm sure you and your dad want some time alone," Taylor finally spoke up, seeming almost as though he was looking for an excuse to leave. "Dinner is in twenty; we'll bring you in a tray, sweetie till then you and your dad can visit a little, hm? There's a chaperone just outside the door, his name is Thomas and if you need anything, you can ask him. And if you get sick or need me or a nurse, you can ring for us here," and he indicated the red button on a small pad on his mattress, which also looked like it could adjust his bed. Eric nodded, still silent, even after Taylor left and he and his dad were alone. God, he ached, he was exhausted, and he was disgusted by the wetness he could feel every time he shifted his legs. It seemed so wrong for his dad to be here, for his dad to HAVE to be here-

"I love you, Eric," Mitchel finally spoke up, and Eric couldn't bring himself to look at his father. His eyes were suddenly burning, and staring down at his blue-blanketed knees was all that kept them from leeking. "Eric, you're gonna be ok, we're gonna figure this out ok? You, me and Daniel. Me and him will make sure you're ok, you know that."

No, no he did not know that, and neither did Mitchel. What little he knew for sure about Carriers held nothing of comfort or peace. He knew they had to live at these schools, these prisons, and that they weren't allowed to even live at home with their families, not until they were engaged or pregnant or both. Which, he knew that, too; carriers had babies. They had, if the young trend was going to continue, a /lot/ of babies. It was on the backs of about 7% of the world to rebuild a population able to shoulder the work and the labor of society, after all, and that left so room for slackers or child-free boys.

Eric pulled his knees higher, and swallowed harshly.

"...Er? You gonna be sick, kiddo?" his dad asked, reaching out to rub a strong, rough hand over Eric's shoulder. A noncommittal noise was all he could muster before his belly revolted, and he wretched onto his lap, watery, bile-filled grape juice floating in a viscous puddle on the water resistant blanket.

"Oh, shi- ok, that's ok sweetie, I got it," his dad ruched to gather up the corners of the blanket, containing the mess and chucking it into a linen bag across the room. "Here, have water, just sip, nice and slow, I'll see if there's another blanket, ok? I'm sure you're still co- Eric, please don't cry, shit..."

Too late. Too fucking late, because if you asked Eric, crying was about the only thing he could do now. If he was to be asked, he hadn't done near enough crying yet, not for the absolute Hell that his life was about to become.

Beside him, away from his IV, the bed dipped down, and suddenly Eric was very, very warm as his father's arms encircled him. He tugged the sheet up best enough to protect Eric's freckled face from the grease on his clothes before he began to lay kisses to his hair.

"Eric, please, please don't cry, we're gonna make this better, ok? We are-"

"But you can't!" Eric all but wailed, wanting to scream it loud enough for the whole center to hear. "You can't make this better! I don't /want/ to be a carrier, I don't wanna get married off to some old fucker, I don't even know if I like kids, this isn't...Daddy this isn't fair!"

He could feel his dad nod, agreeing with everything he said, his 3-day stubble catching in his hair. "I know honey, I know, it's not fair, nothings been fair since that whole fucking war started. A bunch of old men fuck up the world and it's you boys who have to pay for it now...I'm so, so sorry Eric, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry we ruined everything for you...

)o(

Whether he fell asleep or he passed out, it didn't matter. Eric didn't wake again for nearly another hour, to a covered dinner tray, a fidgety caretaker and a note from his dad.

"'Eric,'" Taylor read out loud for him, "'I love you. I'm so proud of you for making the choice to go by yourself. That was very, very brave of you. I'll come see you tomorrow on my lunch break. Love, Dad.'"

Which was all well and good and Eric was very sure he would care later and treasure this little note but right now all he wanted to do was puke, cry, and pass out, in that order, because whatever they were giving him in his IV was starting to wear off. His stomach was in knots, cramping terribly, and everything between his legs felt like it was being shredded. Despite his protestations, Taylor was quick to summon a doctor once Eric threw up another mouthful of acid.

"The change is hard on our bodies, Eric, and it's different for everyone. We'll get you on another medication that'll work better, shshhh..."

This new doctor was a stranger to him; not that the one who stuck his hand up his gown was his BFF or anything but in a place like this, any familiarity was a blessing. This one didn't even speak to him, only to Taylor, and even that was clipped and clinical.

"Vomited again? Can't keep anything down can he?" he asked almost snappishly, and Taylor shook his head quietly.

"That's normal, though, my stomach was in knots, too, it's just the pain and the hormones-"

"Pretty sure my 8 years of medical school allow me to know why someone might vomit during stress, Mrs, Park," the doctor said snydly, and Taylor was quick to close his lips and lower his eyes. Obviously he knew how to behave when scolded, and a brief terror ran through Eric, as though catching a glimpse of his future. All it made him wanna do was gag again.

"Ok, then, we're gonna get you something for nausea," he said wholly uninterested in the patient behind his exam. "And up your dosage. If this doesn't do it by the time your channel starts forming then we'll put you on a Fentanyl patch; as small as you are though I want to save it as a last resort. Make sure your plate is clean by bedtime or we'll have to make a mark of that. 2 missed meals is a feeding tube and you don't want that now do you."

Fuck if Eric knew what he wanted right now aside form his dad, his bed, and control of his body back. He said nothing, just held still as the doctor checked his IV port for bruising, and injected a dose of something from a small bottle into it. Something to keep his stomach lining inside his body, hopefully, or something to make him sleep a while longer. He din't care which right now, he was just...God, so tired and he felt so very small.

As he left, he patted Eric's head like a small puppy, and he nearly completed the illusion with a growl, but even gritting his teeth seemed like it would hurt his fragile body too much right now. Instead he lie back, shrimp-like, and let Taylor rub his back in big, soft circles.

"Between you and me, Eric, I think we know better than they do what its like to change, hm?" he said quietly, with the edge of a smile to his voice, as though they were sharing some grand secret. Eric didn't reply, he barely even moved, just let the touch try and soothe him. "Try not to let the doctors mess you up too much, honey. They may not be experts, but they want us healthy."

"Yeah, so we can breed," Eric said through his blankets, then took in a sharp, hissing breath as another stabbing pain his the apex between his thighs.

To his horror, Taylor didn't immediately jump towards denial, didn't rush to say that wasn't true, and that all carriers just happen to want to be constantly pregnant like the old music teacher from his middle school, already on kid 4; his last were twins. Instead, he did something even worse; he defended them.

"Eric, you're young, you..you never had to see what the war was like, what the plague was like-"

"Taylor, I went to school same as anyone, I don't want-"

"No, Eric, it's different if you were there," he said, with the most gentle interruption possible to mankind. "I was 11 when my mom died and it was a brutal nightmare. I had 3 sisters, I even had a niece. She wasn't even old enough to walk yet, Eric, and she died screaming. When...when you see something like that...Eric, we're so very, very blessed-"

"Bullshit-"

"We have a gift, we've been given a chance to save our people, to give the world a second chance-"

"By becoming livestock-"

"By giving up our old ideas for something so much larger than ourselves, Eric," he breathed, and with the reverence in his voice, Eric could almost believe that Taylor believed those propaganda posters. He closed his eyes, wanting to block out the room's view even if he couldn't drown out the stench of vomit or the prattle of Taylor's voice.

"...I don't want to be a good little soldier for the Union," Eric said to the pillows more than to his companion.

"Hn. Well, if it makes it easier, baby boy, nobody gets THAT choice. It use to be mandatory military service, now it's mandatory military service or taking a husband and a few kids. Which sounds worse?"

"Those are shit options."

"It's a shit world, Eric."

)o(

Eric wasn't able to stomach the cold and congealed slop on his dinner tray, but he complied when a nurse offered him some bottled supplement shake. It was chalky and tasted like kale that liked pressing up like chocolate in its closet when dad wasn't home, but it seemed preferable to having a plastic tube run down his throat.

The taste still lingered on his tongue when he passed out, and he slept in bursts through the night, sometimes comatose for hours, sometimes waking every few moments to nightmares or strange voices or someone wanting yet another vial of blood.

Once, he woke up screaming as he was sure someone was tearing out his belly with pliers, twisting his intestines and throwing them, still attached, into a meat grinder. The bloodstain growing on his sheets did nothing to dissuade this image.

)o(

Eric would recall very little of the next day, what with how his body seemed to be actively trying to kill itself. What little made it through the cloud of fever and heavy medication was hellish; the pain was foremost in his mind. Day 3 after he noticed the first signs of the change, and it was finally starting to hit. Skin burning, eyes welling over with tears, lungs struggling to breathe properly, he reviled every moment he spent awake. Vaguely he was aware of others, most faceless, nameless men poking at him and talking...to him? About him? He didn't know. Dad was there, maybe for a minute, unless he was dreaming that part. Very, very likely...it didn't stop him from crying for him, though, and reaching out for anyone nearby, hoping he would be lucky and it would be his father. 

Sleep danced around him, sometimes blessing him with a sweet kiss, and others, skirting the edges of his existence. Like a viscous river filled with rapids, Eric was tossed about between ignorance and lucid agony. Even when he slept, his world was nightmares, fueled by drugs and pain and the terror he felt at every waking moment. God, fuck, how he wished he was dead. At least then he would know what his future held.

)o(

Day 4 was a little better, since he was nearly comatose the entire time, waking only once to a cold stethoscope pressed to his heated skin. Sickness clouded his vision and he couldn't tell if it was a doctor he knew or someone different, but he held to them all the same, crying that he hurt. Whoever it was, he was not unkind, and his hand patted gently over Eric's.

"I know, little carrier, but you're doing so very, very well, you're very brave, hm? Now, do you think you can sip a little of this for me?"

And something cool was pressed to his lips, and he opened his mouth, eager for something to sooth away the cotton and the foul taste of a day in bed. It was orange-ish and salty, very light, and he took a few small swallows, praised for each one.

"There we are, just a little there, slow now, don't choke. You're going to be a sweet little one, aren't you?"

In horrified recollection, Eric was pretty sure his temperature-addled mind had made him nod, eager for more of those comforting hands and the sweet drink. What a perfect fucking carrier he was already.

Just the act of turning over in bed made his back and legs want to cramp, but fuck it, he needed to move a little. He winced at each little twist and turn, at how the IV twinged in his forearm and how wet he still felt. He swore he was wearing a diaper, but Taylor said it was just a thick pad, like what moms wore after they had their babies, and that he'd be far more uncomfortable without it. 

Taylor, that motherfucker, defending every decision these freaks made...but he'd left him an old MP3 player and a pair of earbuds, as well as a couple yellowed paperbacks, so he coudln't complain about the older carrier too much. Holding his belly, Eric nuzzled into his pillow and turned up the volume on some twangy folk song, too tired to focus on a story right now. Day 5, then. Day 5, and according to the pamphlets Taylor read out loud for him, he would have a full internal cavity by now, and the lining tissues would be starting to form. Just thinking about it he wanted to puke again, but he resisted. They were already freaking out about how often he barfed and he didn't want to give them any new reason to obsess. God, it was hard, though. The meals were dreadful, and not helped at all by the half dozen tablets they issued at each meal.

"These two are multivitamins," Taylor finally told him at lunch later that day when he asked, refusing to swallow them until he knew. "This one is a mild antibiotic to help dissuade infections while you're bleeding. This one is a form of artificial estrogen; they didn't have these around when I changed, they're to help kickstart your body into producing new hormones. The first couple months can be difficult as our testosterone bottoms out and the estrogen and progesterone aren't where they need to be yet. I was a wreck for 3 months, Er, I'm telling you, total drama queen-"

Eric was of the opinion that being one of the first men to spontaneously sprout a vagina might have been a contributing factor to his caretakers emotional upheaval, but he remained silent.

"And these two?"

"A mild sedative, Eric, to help keep you calm so you can rest, and an iron tablet. See? Nothing nefarious here, baby boy, now eat your fruit cup."

Eric didn't want the fruit cup. It tasted bland and grainy, the pears far too over-ripe. He poked at it, took a sip of his milk instead, poked at the cup again.

"Taylor? Why...why is this happening?"

Taylor scooted a little closer, tipping his head; he liked big, dangly earings, and he swore those were actual peacock feathers dangling there nearly at his shoulders. "What do you mean baby? Why are you changing?"

"Why do /we/ change?" he repeated more forcefully. "How the fuck does this happen? When...when we first heard about it it sounded so dumb, like those old science fiction books or something. Hell, some kids at school, their parents said it was magic..."

Taylor was thoughtful, his dark, almond eyes turning upwards as he looked for the right words.

"Well...I don't know, Eric. Nobody does, not yet. It's hard to know where this came from. It's not like we have bottled samples of the gas bombs they released. Nobody was ever even able to find the labs where it was made, or the scientists who developed it. And without that original Zero, we can't really trace the whole story..." Seeing the displeased looked on Eric's face, he sighed, and tapped a brilliant blue nail against his lunch tray. "Eat, Eric....now, that doesn't mean there aren't ideas. Did you know that there are kinds of animals, like frogs, that are boys and girls at the same time? Or that can change their sex?"

Eric had a vague idea. They learned about it in biology back in fourth or fifth grade, when the panic was really reaching a peak; the decade mark had passed with still no new children.

"Yeah, sorta. They tried to study seahorses and stuff for a while right? To see if we could incubate babies outside a moms body?"

"Yeah they uh...they tried a lot of things, Eric. None of them really...are anything we want to remember." Eric had distant memories of prisoners of war, womb transplants,, something about mares, but his dad had always turned the news off. "But they gave us a few clues. It could be that whatever the weapon was, it was made with that DNA, to be able to target based on a genetic level. Some doctors think that carriers all had some form of intersex DNA, a spare chromosome, a half-formed ovary- a lot of people back then use to be born between and not even know it. Hell, for all I know, Eric, it's an act of the Gods. Maybe Loki or someone is trying to give us another chance in a very creative way. I don't know why we change, Eric, I just know that we do and we get to explore a whole new, beautiful aspect of the world-"

"So you're pregnant, huh?"

Well that seemed to distract him from the feel-good spree. Quiet for a beat, a gentle smile began to spread over his face as his hand raised to his belly.

"Yeah, about 3 months along now, it's our second. I have a two and a half year old-"

"That's quite a gap between breeding."

"Kim didn't want me to push myself too soon, Er, and I was breastfeeding for almost a year anyway. Not every man who'll court you is the devil, kiddo, don't believe the horror stories."

Eric pushed his tray away; everything on his plate just caught in his throat or glued his jaws shut; he couldn't stomach anymore, despite having most of it left, cold and stale. 

Taylor shook his head.

"Eric, eat. You have no idea how fast your body is burning through calories right now, you've got to eat more."

"I'm not hungry," Eric argued back, lacing his arms over his belly as it churned beneath the thin blue diamond print of his hospital gown.

"I know, but the doctor isn't gonna let this go, Eric...two more bites of the Salisbury steak, and finish your fruit."

Eric winced at how Taylor spoke to him as though he was his toddler back home.

"I said I wasn't hungry," he insisted again, biting his lower lip. "I'm gonna puke if I eat anymore, Taylor, the meds make me feel sick and I'm too nervous-"

Taylor's hands through his hair were cool and soothing against his sweaty, heated skin, and his voice was sympathetic, but unrelenting.

"Honey if you don't eat willingly it's just going to be worse," he whispered quietly, and spooned a bit of gelatin and pears onto a spoon. "Come on, take a bite, Eric, please?"

He didn't want it, but he was too shaky to refuse, and he almost managed to swallow it, he did, it was in the back of his throat, but it just refused to go down. Instead, it came up, a little bile with it, over the railings of his bed and into the waste bin.

"...Ok, baby, ok."

)o(

Eric was napping when his doctor came back in. This wasn't surprising at all; he spent most of his life napping or wishing he could nap these days. Exhaustion was his world, and he couldn't be nearly as depressed if he was asleep.

"- at all, then? Well, that's not good at all, can't have that. We'll do an NG, hopefully just for a few days."

Slowly Eric sloughed off the last dregs of sleep and peered up at the man, lit dimly in the lamplight. Outside, streetlights glowed between his blinds, but considering it was February, this didn't exactly mean it was late.

"Vitals?" he slurred, holding out his arm to have his blood pressure taken. Usually the nurses on their rounds could do just about everything without waking. Stupid doctor.

"No, Eric, 'fraid not," he said with a tired voice and a shake to his head. He scooted the bedside table closer to Eric's side, laying out several sterile-wrapped packages atop it. Still sleepy, Eric couldn't tel what was in them, and when he tried to sit up to see better, a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"No, lie back," he told him, and a night nurse on his other side reached beneath his bed to find the release, and quickly put the bed flat. "I heard you haven't been eating, child."

"...not hungry," he excused himself, keeping him propped up on an elbow but that, too, seemed to be unwanted. The nurse, strong and tall, took his arm and eased it from beneath him, trying to coax Eric to lie flat, not even a pillow beneath him. Looking around with a growing anxiety, Eric spotted not one but two guards at the door, neither bothering to look away.

"...Doctor Kessler?"

A heavy sigh, a sad shake to his head as the doctor opened a pack of lean gloves. "Eric, I know your belly hurts but you need to eat, alright? You'll get horribly sick far too easily if you don't."

Eric felt his tongue lying heavy and useless in his mouth, and he craned his neck to try and see what it was the doctor was working with. Again, he was forced back, less gently this time. Eric didn't like this, he didn't like feeling so helpless, seeing two barely known men hovering above him.

"Eric, I'm going to run an NG line into your stomach so you can get the food you need to get you through the change," he said gently, clinically, and Eric's feverish, drugged up brain struggled to put those word together into an image that made sense. "It goes through your nose, down the back of your throat and into your stomach, and we'll keep it secured with just a couple pieces of tape. If you hold still, it won't hurt much at all-"

Oh FUCK NO. This wasn't going to fucking happen, and Eric made that known very quickly as his fist landed a blow to the nurses upper arm. Honestly he was aiming for his jaw but coordination was not his strong point right now. Of course all he managed to gain for his efforts was the grasp of 2 guards, who were at his side before he could even think of getting out of this bed.

"Don't FUCKING touch me!" he screamed at them, trying to twist away, but the one behind him, his hands were wide enough to almost encircle Eric's arm, and the one holding his legs down looked bored out of his mind, wasn't even breaking a sweat.

"Calm down, child, I know, it's frightening, but you were told to eat, and you refused," the doctor continued, peering through his glasses as he ran something behind Eric's ear and down along the side of his throat, making a little mark on it with a pen. "You'll learn soon that you get one order and one warning. A carrier shouldn't need any more than that to obey."

"Fuck you and fuck your carrier bullshit!" he screamed as loud as he could, and he just didn't understand, why was no one coming in to help him? there were a dozen nurses and guard milling about the hospital this time at night, couldn't anyone hear him?!

Dr. Kessler paid him no mind, opening a small packet of clear gel to coat over the end of a clear, yellowish piece of tubing.

A change of tactics seemed to be the next option.

"Please, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was such a big deal," Eric pleaded, still pulling against the man holding him to the bed. "I'll eat, it's not like i"m anorexic or anything, I'm just sick, it hurts, but I'll eat, I promise!"

"I'm sure you will," Dr. Kessler said gently, and tipped Eric's head back, arching his neck. "But until then we need to make up for lost time and hedge our bets, hm? We just want to make sure you're taken care of."

Dr. Kessler was a liar; it DID hurt, it burned and scraped inside his fucking face and he almost threw up as it hit the back of his throat. Even once it was where it shoudl be, they didn't release their grip on him, not till Kessler drew back on the tube, making sure it wasn't settled in his lungs, and a few bits of soft medical tape were affixed to his face; they had to wipe his tears away first, and didn't seem to fucking care at all.

"Alright, let's start him on 12 ounces over the next 2 hours, see how well he can accept that. Make sure it's warm first, that's usually better for a first feeding," he told the nurse, writing a few instructions and remarks down on Eric's chart. "And you, little carrier, you pull that tube out, we put it right back in and put you in restraints, is that understood?" When Eric refused to answer through his sick sobbing, Kessler just shook his head and snapped the folder shut. 'Eric, child, I don't want you to suffer here more than nature is already making you suffer, but you need to learn sooner or later, that you're the only one choosing to hurt you."


	3. Fascinating Carrierhood

Eric tried desperately to hide his feeding tube when his father came to visit the next day, but it was far and away a lost battle. It wasn't like a bandage, small and easily tucked beneath the blankets. No, it was literally taped to the side of his face and the only thing more noticeable than that long piece of plastic was his shame.

"Eric...what is...sweetie..." his father began almost as soon as he came in, and Eric suddenly wished for carrier-long hair to hide this. All the same he tucked his head down, turning away in a failed attempt to hide.

"It's, um...its for food," he supplied lamely, scratching at the tape. It irritated his skin to the point where he almost wondered if he might have an allergy, but he didn't have the balls to ask them about it, lest they think he was being a problem breeder again. "I didn't...Dad, it's not my fault, I just feel so sick when I eat, and I keep puking, so they...they did this, last night..."

Mitchels face was hard to read, but his hands were, at least, familiar. Warm and dry and rough, they closed around his small sons' cheeks and chin, turning his face upwards, and he appraised the changing boy with far-off eyes, tipping him to look the other way to inspect the line.

"Did they hurt you, Eric?" he asked, and Eric chewed his lip, struggling for an answer.

"Hurt...hurt going down. Dunno if that's avoidable...'m sorry, Dad, I promised them I'd eat more when I could, but even Taylor said the medicine-"

"Damn brainwashed motherfucker," Mitchel tsked under his breath, finally releasing Eric's cheeks with a sigh. "It's ok, baby boy, I know, you must not feel well, I know..."

'But you don't,' Eric thought bitterly to himself, and immediately cringed at the pang of guilt in his chest, no matter how true it was. Dad couldn't know a fraction of how Eric felt right now, even through the haze of his painkillers and sedatives. Every moment he was awake was a nightmare of waiting and uncertainty, and every strange man who walked in to the room was a potential threat. Twice now he'd had nightmares of being introduced sight-unseen to his new husband, and even here, awake, he shuddered at the recollections.

Mitchel must have thought the shiver was from a chill, as he went to the now familiar cabinet to retrieve another blanket, tucking it over his chest and shoulders and coaxing him to lie a bit further down.

"You're tired," he said knowingly, and Eric was. He was always, always exhausted now. "I bet that thing doesn't make eating any easier, hm? And you just had lunch, by the clock...lie down, here, Dad will read to you some, hm?"

What choice did he have? He was in no position to turn away any kindness right now, not from father, not from Taylor...maybe from the doctors, but that was to be expected. They always carried needles behind their false kindness, tablets beneath promises of naps and rest. Dad, though, he was always honest, even if that honesty was colored by trepidation or uncertainty, and Eric felt lulled by his voice and his warm hands and the way the pages beckoned. Gulliver's Travels, one of his favorites when he was younger, and as the memorized passages fell over him, Eric imaged himself growing translucent, so the words could reach a hidden child, a long forgotten one, who was still a boy with a future and a choice and his own, OWN body.

What silly visions these drugs gave his overtaxed brain.

)o(

A bath. Holy fucking God in heaven a bath sounded like paradise right now, and he could have kissed Taylor when he came in with the news. A real bath in a real tub...supervised, of course, but with 9 days of wet wipes and a damp cloth and cornstarch for his hair, he barely cared if he had an audience. Shit, he'd had plenty of men poking up between his legs for the last week, probing into newly formed and tender skin, that it just seemed par for the course by now...he tried to ignore how normalized that was already becoming, instead focusing on the little basket of goodies Taylor had given him.

"...this for me?" he asked, peering into the little pastel basket, and Taylor nodded, his cerulean and lime green earrings jangling.

"The center keeps plenty of little trinkets like this for new boys," he smiled, watching Eric smell the rose shampoo in a little bottle. Strong, but pleasant. Rose, vanilla, jasmine, not things he smelled often. The Product Powers That Be had all been raised in a world where these scents were effeminate, for women, and demand for them had plummeted, it seemed, with the population. For Eric, just that faint smell of sweet pea should have elicited indignation, but it was a hell of a lot better than his own stale sweat.

Still in no position to walk alone, Taylor and a nurse helped him cross to the little private bathroom adjoining his bedroom, sitting him down on a small bench as the nurse filled the tub with warm water. Taylor helped him to undress, careful of the disconnected IV line and feeding tube still taped to his skin, his arm wrapped snug in watertight plastic. He turned away as the other carrier helped him out of his briefs, dealing with that part himself, and tried to not process how chipper Taylor was in saying that there was still no more blood, and he'd be able to have his last exam soon, and wouldn't have to deal with any more of this inconvenience until he started his cycles. No, none of that right now, thanks, Eric thought, linking his arm over Taylor's shoulder, eager for the tub.

Yes, it felt just as good as he'd imagined, perfectly warm water lapping over his legs and hips, up to his waist, and he immediately reached down to splash, wetting his chest, neck and underarms. Tepid air mixed with the dampness and left raised gooseflesh on his torso, but he didn't care, and reached out for a cloth to wash himself. 

Taylor complied, though the blue bit of fluff he gave him was so much softer than the scraps and rags with which he washed back at home. Fine, he'd accept small luxuries, and he poured out a bit of pale, pearly white cream onto the fabric, rubbing it together into a thick frothy lather to drag over his skin. Fucking wonderful, he thought, as a weeks worth of grime began to peel away from his skin.

"Nice huh?" Taylor smiled, shaking his head because he too had surely been there. "Took me nearly as long before I got a damned shower. Best feeling in the world; I swear I'd stopped feeling human."

Eric kept his opinions as to why to himself, rubbing the washcloth under his arms and then down onto his side, letting the bubbles gather on the surface of the water around his knees. Out of the water came his feet, which tickled beneath the soft, fluffy cloth, his calves and behind his knees and- oh.

Seeing his hesitation, Taylor quickly rooted through Eric's basket, gathering up the shampoo and conditioner, and offered to help wash his hair, to which Eric agreed in a heartbeat. He slid down into the tub to wet his blonde locks, listening to it stream back down as he sat up, and sighed at the wafting floral sent from the shampoo. Taylor's hands in his hair were magic, long nails scratching away the caked on oil and dirt, sweeping it away in handfuls of soap.

"Have you thought about what kind of style you might want for your first day of classes?" Taylor asked kindly, and Eric tensed. God, he was starting to pick up on Taylor's subtle little bit of manipulation, making all these sweet suggestions to things Eric wouldn't want on his own...It was hard to blame him, though. His caretaker was a carrier, and probably had a quota of other happy breeders to churn out or else his husband would beat him. Another cog in the machine of the CEC, trussed up as a benign, happy example of Eric's future. His chipped, neon future. Ugh.

"My hair's like two inches long," Eric sighed, letting Taylor tip his head back, scooping water into a little cup to rinse away the suds. 

"More than the Academy boys have when they come in," he pointed out. "You know, you're in a good position, Er. You registered yourself, that's gonna earn you favor with the teachers and staff, and you're small and cute, that's gonna earn you favor with your classmates, and-"

"And the guys who want to fuck me?"

Taylor didn't lose a beat in his washing, and Eric shivered as a cold glob of conditioner was poured onto the crown of his head.

"And the men who want to court you."

Taylor wasn't shy at least, about what was going to be expected of Eric, what was expected of all carriers eventually. Well, sure, he liked to gloss and sugarcoat, but at least he wasn't telling Eric false promises of a future career in engineering or some shit.

"What if I don't want to be courted? What if I'd always fancied myself as the kind to ask a guy out first, huh?"

Taylor laughed lightly as he worked the conditioner through Eric's short waves, shaking his head in amusement.

"The only men you're going to be around for a while are carriers, sterile, married, or heavily watched. Not a big dating pool there-"

"What if I want to date another carrier?" he challenged, feeling as though the water around him was cooling rapidly as his heart beat faster. "Or I fall for an impotent guard or something?"

"...Eric, you know that would never be allowed," Taylor said gently, still massaging his head; by now it seemed he needed something to busy his hands. "The population crashed, it's still floundering. If we want to have any ind of future, boys like us have to accept our sacrifice, marry young, have our children, hope for more carriers. Give it a few generations, child, and things will be better, boys like us will have more options again, like women use to-"

"Women didn't seem to have it so great if you ask me," Eric scoffed, splashing more lukewarm water over his chest, and Taylor was forever soothing.

"Maybe...but it got better. It was getting better, and it will for us someday too...you're beautiful, Eric, and you're changing young, before you're fully grown. That's so lucky; you won't get all tall and muscular like some carriers, you barely even have peach fuzz on your cheeks to worry about! You're healthy and bright, you're gonna have men begging for you to marry them, you're gonna have your choice, I swear it!"

Soap suds and conditioner melted into the water, and Eric squinted as his hair was rinsed, to avoid the burn. How odd to him. In the world he'd known, there were only men; or almost only men. The older generations still spoke about being gay, being bi, missing women, but Eric and the other Endgame Children knew only boys, developed crushes on only boys, developed their sexual tastes in a very singular society. Effeminate, masculine, androgynous, these words referred to clothes or colors or animal names, not to gender. Why would it matter if a carrier was built broad and strong and powerful? It was just a concept Eric couldn't fathom, this sorting of some traits as fitting for some people and not others.

"Eric," Taylor started again, handing him a hand towel to dry his face and, once his eyes were open, his washcloth. "Eric, come on, finish washing."

...Eugh. No. Eric very resolutely did not want to touch himself there; it was still sore and tender, from his navel down to mid-thigh, and he pressed his legs as tight as the day he'd registered and had that doctor poking around between his thighs.

"Eric please...it's your body, baby, and it's lovely and its perfect and you're going to need to know how to take care of yourself now." Silence. "Honey, you're gonna start bleeding during your cycles soon and trust me, you're going to feel absolutely disgusting if you can't keep yourself properly clean...and you'll feel better during your next exam if you've washed recently, you know you will."

Eric didn't want to hear any of this, even if it was true. When he appeared at the gates of the CEC, ready to hand himself over, he thought only of the pain he'd soon be in, and the threat of rape. He'd thought little about the hell of doctors and exams and periods and actually having to have his body irreparably changed. Slowly he let his hands sink below the surface of the water, staring at the white tile wall as he gave a quick wash over what was left of his male anatomy, soaping through his hair and wincing at the sore, swollen bit of skin and tissue left where his balls were. But after that, he froze again, and then jumped when he felt Taylor's hand circle his wrist and curl around the back of his own, gently guiding his touch down further.

"Sh, shhh, it's alright Eric, it's not gross, there's nothing wrong here. It's your body, and looking after yourself is one way you can still feel control, if you're so afraid of losing it."

Burning behind his eyes and his throat kept Eric looking staunchly away, and he jumped as two of his fingertips made contact with new skin. Taylor didn't force, and he was patient, stroking his thumb over Eric's wrist as he slowly pressed himself forward. Warm...warmer than the water, was all he could think at first, as he pressed his fingers clumsily into unknown folds. The water felt nice, as least, cleansing and refreshing. Everything was hypersensitive, especially the softer parts in between, and he couldn't stand to keep his attention there long, but he at least massaged some of the soapy water between his thighs to feel like a human again, before wrenching his hand back and folding his arms across his chest.

A kiss to his cheek, praise from Taylor, and a fresh bit of clean water to rinse. These were his rewards for not puking in the tub. Hooray.

)o(

Eric's heart pounded out of his chest as he followed the...what did he call himself, some kind of registry counselor- down the hall and away from the infirmary room that had been his home for 2 weeks. He had a drawstring backpack of one shoulder, filled with pamphlets, socks and underwear, sanitary pads, wet wipes, glucose tablets for his apparently still crashing blood sugar and a little box stuffed with hard candy, lip balm, lotion and bobby pins. How fucking precious. To his chest he clutched a blue folder with his name printed on the front and, around his neck, a lanyard with his shiny new ID card. He felt like a puppy dog on a leash now, and longed to bite the man taking him further and further away from the front doors.

"You'll be in Dorm A, Eric, we had an opening there last week-"

'Suicide or marriage,' he bet to himself bitterly.

"-as Mr. Collins is now happily Mrs. Rollings."

'Bingo.'

"-and we have a lot of younger men not far from your age right now, so I'm sure it'll be more comfortable for you."

Eric said nothing as he was guided down a back hallway, through yet another locked door, and suddenly the atmosphere seemed to change. Instead of clinical white tile floor, underfoot there was now carpeting, and real lamps hug from the ceiling instead of fluorescent bar lighting. True, it was more law office waiting room than town home, but the caramel and cream color scheme was a lot more welcoming than stained white upon off white. It smelled better, too, more like food, and he was pretty sure he could smell poporn-

"Having a little snack, Owen?"

Turning a corner brought them to another hallway, with a large, open archway leading to a kitchenette. Several small tables scattered around the room, and at one sat a lanky, pale-eyed boy, dark skinned and light-haired, munching on a bowl of the slightly burnt snack while reading.

"It's my free hour, sir," He said with a shrug, barely looking up from his book to flicker his eyes over the older man and to Eric. "And my room mate has been on the phone for, like, the whole day with his fiance and I'm gonna puke if I have to listen to any more of it and you know if I do that they'll have me back in psych and ending up like blondie there."

Heat rising to his cheeks, Eric raised his hand to the tube still taped to his face that forced 3 bottles of foul smelling liquid into his body every day. He was finally able to eat more solid foods again, what with his body reaching some type of stasis, and he was suppose to get it removed by the end of the week, supposing he hadn't lost any weight by his next check up. Yay. 

The counselor just nodded, seeming ready to make the chatty carrier shush; Owen seemed all too eager to return to his book which looked to Eric to be a smutty romance.

"This is the dorm kitchen, for all 3 dorms- there's only about 10 or 12 of you at a time, so it's more than enough. Put your name on anything you don't want eaten. It's just for snacks and such though- no knives allowed, as I'm sure you'll understand."

Can't have the breeders killing themselves without popping out a baker's dozen kids, yup.

"This is the rec room; board games, cards, magazines. You can borrow video games and movies from the front desk on good behavior, once you reach level 2."

Eric picked up the card at the end of his lanyard and looked closer.

Eric McDaugh  
8-19-72 / 2-4-90  
5'5  
128  
Blu-Bl-O

Beneath were several tiny blank spots for stickers to be placed. One indicating that he was single, one indicating a medical and/or psych issue, and one indicating his level. He was already a level 2, probably because he was a good little boy who turned himself over, but decided he didn't give enough shit to volunteer this information. He just followed silently as he was shown the bathrooms, the small corner that passed as a study library, and finally his dorm.

Honestly it was homier and cozier than he could have hoped. Thick pile brown carpeting ran the whole room, accented with burgundy and deep green rugs, and walls the color of a warm, milky latte. It was lit mostly with lamps set into the wall, but at one end of the room was a large wall of windows set before a window seat. The view outside was a winter-barren yard, cold and gray, with more of that giant fence separating them from the rest of the city. He'd heard that in nicer parts of the state, CEC's were built more out in the country, separated from prying eyes, and Eric wasn't sure if that thought was comforting or terrifying. Three couches and several cushions dotted the room, looking worn and squashed but clean, covered by books, slippers, stuffed animals and other personal affects from the other hell-damned boys who lived here. 

"Let's see...Room 3 is yours, then, you're sharing with Dovine. Nice kid, only a few years older than you, I'm sure you'll get along fine."

'His' bedroom was obviously ready for a new occupant. Or at least, half of it was. A plain iron-framed bed dressed out with a dark green comforter and pillow sham, a 4-drawer dresser, a bedside lamp, and..that was pretty much it to the right. To the left, though, Dovine's side of the room showed a man who had grown very comfortable. Bed unmade with a near nest of blankets and sheets, with several sketchbooks and journals tossed about. Clothes scattered all over the floor, and Eric saw just as many dresses as he did jeans and t-shirts.

"Hmph. Dovine is nice enough but he's gonna make some officer a miserable wife if you ask me."

Eric, of course, didn't ask anyone what kind of wife material his roommate was going to be, nor did he care. As long as Dovine was fun and not a narc, that's all he cared about.

"Your dad sent you over some clothes and personal things, Eric. They've been sorted out, no contraband found, so you can get out of those hospital scrubs...and of course the enter provides new clothes as well. Nothing rich-like or fancy, but they're in the dresser. Take a look, make yourself at home. Everyone is in classes or therapy right now, so you have a couple hours to yourself to rest a while, ok? Now if you need anything, you know where the front desk is, and there's always a counselor on staff, if you're in pain or you need more pads or you want to make a phone call-"

Eric blushed, and just plopped his bag down onto the bed that was supposedly his, and followed with his own body, crashing onto the thin mattress.

"Right. Well, have a nap, then, Taylor will be back for an hour after classes, you'll do fine...behave, kid. Behave and everything will be better."


	4. Jameson

Somehow, Eric did indeed manage to drift to sleep, as half-gone and fitful as it was, because suddenly, it seemed, the rooms around him were filled with noise and activity and boys.

"Vance, come on, we fucking agreed it's my turn to pick the movie-"

"If Mr. Bloom thinks I'm gonna write 2,000 fucking words on breastfeeding, he's nuts! We don't even /have/ breasts!"

"Yet."

"Fuck off, Collin."

"Has anyone seen my tennis shoes? We have like 40 minutes of daylight left and I wanna go for a run."

"Ugh, how can you think about running? All I wanna do is have a bath and go to bed."

"Cramps, Tanner?"

"Bout time you start, you've been a massive cunt all week."

Oh sweet Jesus Eric did not want to deal with any of this right now, and he grabbed for the pillow on his bed to either hide under or suffocate beneath, he wasn't sure yet. Silently he prayed for the door to his bedroom to remain closed, to leave him alone, but he was not so lucky. Light and sound flooded into his room as the door flew open, and he cringed beneath his fluffy barricade.

"For real though, Owen, he'll stop his smoochy love-sick shit the first time his husband slaps him- oh, shit, hi."

Eric contemplated his limited options in 3 seconds- pretend to hide, pretend to be deaf, pretend to be dead. None of these were a very viable or long lasting option, so he just sighed, and peered out from underneath his pillow. That tanned blonde from the kitchenette stood next to a young man who either had albinism or was a certifiable vampire. Dovine, he presumed, had winter-pale skin and hair so blonde it shone silver. More striking than pretty, he at least had a charming smile, which he flashed with ease towards Eric.

"You must be the new roomie. Cool, Evan was a stuck up ho. I'm Dovine."

"...Eric," he responded with a soft voice, surprised he was able to scrape those two syllables together. He was still sleepy and disoriented, but Dovine didn't seem to mind.

"Eric, cool. Damn you're young, you're last gen aren't you?"

"Uh...yeah. August 72."

Owen let out a low whistle, eyes widening, obviously impressed.

"Damn, kid, and I thought my brother cut it close. July 71. He was a year old when mom died."

Eric gave a one shouldered shrug, unsure of how to respond to that. Owen coudln't be older than 25, and Dovine, maybe 22, 23. Young, yes, but seemingly so much more worldly than Eric, who wouldn't even graduate high school till June.

Dovine stepped around his own mess and helped himself to a corner of Eric's bed, and the younger boy adjusted himself to the new weight.

"So yeah, welcome. Heard you were the one who turned yourself in huh? Yeah, everyone's a gossip here, there's not too much else to do to keep ourselves from going nuts. Honestly wish I'd had those kind of cojones, man, would have saved me one hell of a beating from my old man."

Unable to resist, Eric had to ask, "Your husband old man or your dad old man?"

Owen barked a sharp, loud bit of laughter, and Dovine smirked.

"Dad old man. Not even engaged yet-"

"Dove scares off men."

"No, I scare off insecure little boys who can't handle a real carrier," he said matter-of-factly, tossing a bit of hair back behind his ear. It just dusted against his jaw in thin, straight wisps, the length making an easy time line to follow. Assuming he was a military man, like most of the population, he'd been here 8 or 9 months by now. Huh, Eric didn't think someone could go that long without a fiance. "It's not my fault I'm smarter than most of them."

"Smart ass and smart aren't synonymous, Dove."

"Fuck off, Owen, don't you have a date tonight anyway?"

Owen made a gagging noise, pressing one finger into his mouth.

"Yeah. it's Officer Teagan again."

"Lucky. He's hot."

"He's my dads age!"

"Better get use to older men, Owen, you think any of my dates have been under, like 35?"

"There's a big difference between 35 and fifty!"

Eric was eager and willing to retreat back under his one-pillow pillow fort, but Dove wasn't gonna let him.

"Aw, c'mon Eric, I'm sorry, we're not trying to scare you, ok? Don't hide. It's just good to be back in our rooms where he can bitch, you know?"

No reply could be drug from his throat, and Eric just buried his face into his new comforter, breathing deep the scent of industrial soap and fabric softener. A warm hand pressed between his shoulder blades, and he didn't have the strength to turn away. On his other side, the bed dipped, and he knew Owen had joined them.

"Yeah, it's ok, Eric, come on. It's Spaghetti night in the cafeteria, and it's pretty good...you're skinny, I bet you're as dirt poor as my family. You'll like the food here...oh..."

Eric finally unburdened the side of his face from his blankets and arms, reminding Owen of the tube currently laced down his nose and throat. Dovine winced.

"Well, hey, all the more reason for you to wash up and get your ass to dinner with us. That can't be comfortable right? And there's enough that sucks about your body right now without this added bullshit."

Maybe, but Eric's legs were jelly and all his strength was going into not crying right now. His new roommates were having none of this though, and each took an arm, pulling Eric up in tandem with such practice that Eric had to wonder how many boys they'd drug around like this.

"Come on, everything looks better when you have a clean face and a full belly," Owen promised, his chipper attitude helping to diffuse some of the attention from the other 3 boys milling around the common room. Shy and ashamed, Eric couldn't meet their eyes, and just stared down at the chocolate brown carpet until it became clean blue and white tile beneath his feet.

"Alright, sit down- Hello Kyle- I'll get a wet rag, k? Owen, get a comb? His hair's a mess-"

For the next ten minutes his new little entourage scrubbed at his cheeks (careful of his feeding tube), his eyes, wet down his hair, got him some water, some chapstick, some vanilla-scented cream for his hands, and the whole time they talked nonstop. Eric didn't absorb much of anything, but he listened all the same, fighting tears the whole time. He was homesick, missed his father, wasn't hungry at all- and the two young men seemed to know. Surely his reddened eyes and cheeks gave it away, and they just chatted the whole time, not giving Eric time to cry. The only acknowledgement they gave was a sigh, and a cold cloth.

"It's ok, Eric. We know. It's better to cry at night and keep your head up by day. We know it's scary and it...it doesn't really get better. But it gets easier, ok?"

)o(

Eric picked at dinner, which was served in a proper dining room. Ish. It was like a cafeteria with delusions of gradure, with two long tables set for about a dozen each. One populated by carrier boys, one by staff. Currently there were eleven of them, with Eric of course as the youngest, and the older being a soft, older man of maybe 35 or 36, looking terrified of his own plate. God, that had to suck, and Eric wasn't sure which of them got the shittier end of the change stick here.

Despite his lack of appetite, and the amount of sore, cranky, depressed and hormonal men crammed into one space, supper was fairly nice, in terms of atmosphere, with plenty of congenial chatter and jokes tossed around. It could almost be relaxing if it wasn't for the vulture. The meal was overseen by a man Eric didn't like on sight, tall and built like a brick, who walked around and scrutinized each carrier's plate, telling more than one that he needed more pasta, more salad, more milk. He watched personally to make sure one took his pills, then checked his cheeks and beneath his tongue to be sure they weren't going to be spit out when he wasn't looking. When he finally reached Eric's seat in the middle, he laid a strong hand on his shoulder, and Eric, unsure what to do, just stared at his plate.

"You're new," he observed, and beside him he could practically HEAR Owen roll his eyes. "You're...McDaugh, then?"

"Yeah, Eric," the teen said with a strained voice, and the hand tightened slightly.

"Alright, Carrier McDaugh. I'm Captain Jameson, I oversee the day to day well being of you gentlemen. First day out of the infirmary?"

Eric nodded, still looking straight down, and he was relieved when the hand left his shoulder, only to nearly choke on his own spit as that hand suddenly closed around his jaw, his teeth biting into his cheeks as he forced his face towards him. Deep brown eyes bored into him, and Eric struggled to find anywhere else to look, settling for the perfect rows of stitching on the mans uniform. His other hand drew up, and Eric flinched as Captain Jameson traced the feeding tube running across his cheek, tapping at it once.

"How long have you had this?"

"Um...a week? Or so? I don't remember-"

"Have you been diagnosed with an eating disorder?"

"No, just...the pain meds made me puke, so they put this in...I get it out on Friday-"

"Not if you leave your plate like that you won't," he countered, indicating the barely touched pasta and salad at Eric's spot, and he licked his lips, searching for words.

"Just...tired. Homesick," he answered lamely, already knowing it was a shit answer. Around the table the other men kept up their low conversations, ate, and otherwise ignored this scene. Shit.

"Home's here now, Carrier, till we find you a decent man to look after you, and that decent man is going to expect you to be healthy and well-fed. You don't leave the table until you finish your meal."

Eric eyed the plate hesitantly, already wanting to knock it aside.

"But they're gonna make me have a feeding before bed too. The nurse said if I eat half, I'll be doing good-"

"A full meal and a feeding won't you hurt any, carrier. You're too skinny, another ten pounds or so would sit nicely on you, be easier on your body when you conceive."

Eric was sure his face now matched the tomato sauce on his plate, and he was even more sure that Captain Jameson saw and was more than a little amused.

"No room for being shy here, Carrier McDaugh. Your body is a national commodity now, get use to it."

"Well at least you're an /honest/ slave owner," Eric spat and oh, God in Heaven, did he immediately regret it. That hand on his jaw tightened to a bruise-tight grip, and he cried out, as much in shock as in pain, and Captain Jameson pulled him forward, till he had to grab onto the table as he was nearly lifted from his seat.

"You do not speak that way to your superiors, Carrier. You're young and you're new, but I expect you to learn quickly. Understood?"

"Y...yeah!" Eric barely croaked, but that didn't seem to be what he wanted to hear.

"You respond "yes, Sir," to a man, Carrier."

"But I AM a...I'm..." but the words died on his lips as he looked around; the few brave enough to meet his eye were pursing their lips and shaking their heads almost imperceptibly. Among them was Dovine, who was looking, somehow, even paler than usual.

"I...ok. Yeah-yes. Yes, Sir," Eric whispered, and gasped his relief as he was let go. Pleased with himself, the captain tapped his finger against the edge of Eric's plate.

"Eat, then report to the infirmary. I'll be checking your file tomorrow." And with that he went off to torment the next boy in line.

Eric ate robotically, feeling sick on every bite, and under the table Dovine rubbed his foot against Eric's leg, the most solidarity he could show under the vultures watchful eye.

Well. At least he now knew that the rumors were true. No matter what kindness the other carriers showed him, this wasn't their world anymore than these were their bodies.


	5. Unwilling High School Drop Out

“Hey dad, Its me.” 

“Well thank God you told me, I wouldn't have known otherwise! How you doing, Eric?” 

“…'m okay, dad. How are you and Daniel?” 

“We're fine, kiddo, we're fine. Daniel is excited to chat with you soon, once we all get these schedules figured out. But how are you baby? Did they take the feeding tube out yet?” 

Eric sighed from his spot on the pink pleather recliner, and glanced up at the beige sludge slowly dripping down into the tube and to his belly. “No…I'm getting second dinner now. But soon, I bet…” 

“Good, keep trying to eat more ok? Keep those nosy doctors happy right?” 

“Heh, right,” Eric said, his laughter a forced breath of air. The phone cord curled around his fingers as he watched the doctor and nurses file about the small infirmary. With him gone now, nobody was there full time and it seemed they kept themselves busy with medications and check ups and pregnancy tests. Eric shuttered and pulled his sheet closer. 

“You start classes today?” 

“No, that’s tomorrow…” 

“What kind of schedule you have? You gonna still get your diploma in June?” 

Eric tugged the cord andd looked down at the paper in his lap listing off his classes for his first 3 weeks. What a fucking joke. The whole morning was devoted to a crash course in health and anatomy and it was all academically downhill from there. Childcare, cooking, household management, aesthetics…everything was geared towards a singular goal and that goal did not involve a high school diploma. 

“Um…I don’t think so, Dad…might …might be a bit too behind,” he said softly, hoping that none of his chaperones was listening too close. “We uh…we're gonna learn how yo take care of babies…and ourselves I guess. Houses…” 

Silence hung awkwardly across the line, broken by the sound of kitchen chairs squeaking against the linoleum. 

“Oh. Well…that's important, Eric, very…hey, you were allowed to keep your camera, right? Send me photos of your new friends, your room…I'll keep sending film.”

“Sure, I will dad. Um…I think my feeding is almost done, the nurse looks…yeah, I gotta go dad. I’ll call on Friday night ok?” 

“Course sweetie, course …you work hard alright ? Pay attention in class, learn what you can.” 

“…yeah, dad. Love you.” 

“Love you too kiddo.” 

)o( 

As Eric ran a brush through his hair that morning, he thought of Taylor, asking how he wanted to fix it for his first day. Looking around the long communal counter in the bathroom, he felt vindicated in his decision to give zero (0) shits. Sure, some of the carriers swept back their locks into pins or curls, but most of them were stuck in this hellish half grown out mess, unable to do more than a headband or, for the lucky, a short ponytail. This didn’t mean the bathroom was easy to navigate though. There was still a dozen men crowded around the long banks of mirrors, some wanting a morning shower, some wanting to gamble their eyeballs on clumsily applied mascara or poorly done blush, desperate to look the part, to fit in with the role that would earn them safety. Dovine was one of them, though he actually had a pretty steady hand as he traced a bit of eyeliner around his lashes. 

“Wanna try?” He offered to Eric, digging in his bag and pulling out a new pencil, still wrapped. Disgusted, Eric pursed his lips and shook his head like a child offered steamed peas. 

“That’s fine, you’re cute enough.” 

“And you’re not?” Eric scoffed, eyeing his room mates feathery hair and watery blue eyes.  
Dovine just shrugged, using his ring finger to swipe a sheer pink balm to his lips. “Not if you ask my dates,” he muttered to his reflection, throwing the little pot of lip gloss back into his bag. “Anyway, come on then. Breakfast then class…and please eat, Eric, there’s fruit and stuff if you’re worried about gaining weight.”

“They WANT me to gain weight,” he reminded Dovine as they filed out to grab a plate of English muffins or oatmeal or whatever Eric could stomach. Dove tsked at his choices though, and plopped an extra buttered roll onto his plate before letting him go sit down. “Trust me. You got a 3 hour lecture coming up, you don’t want to zone the fuck out more than you have to…tummy still upset?” 

Eric shook his head, sitting down at the carriers table to poke into his food. “No, belly doesn’t hurt, just like…my back? It kinda aches.” 

Dovine relished a bite of bacon, and nodded. “That’s your hips, I bet. Gonna start growing again, getting wider. It’s a fucking hell, I couldn’t walk right for like a month when mine started.” 

Eric scowled, and speared a bite of cantaloupe on his fork, but said nothing. He didn’t need to; his roommate was a chatterbox, and told him to ask for hot pads at the infirmary for his hips, and some ibuprofen. From there he went on about what you could and couldn’t get from the nurses and doctors here, pointing out one at the staff table. 

“Yeah, I know him,” Eric muttered around a mouthful of fruit. “He’s the one who jammed this thing up my nose.” 

“Yikes…hes not too bad though. Honestly it’s not the med staff that makes shit hard here.” Eric peered at him sideways, but Dove was looking resolutely away, face down but eyes tipped towards the second table. Following his gaze, Eric took stock of the men in charge. Another doctor he knew, a nurse, a couple morning shift guards -

"Oh ew,” he sighed under his breath as he recognized Jameson. “Doesn’t he ever go home?” 

“Psh, he is home, he lives on base, like, a quarter mile away, and he thrives on the power trip,” Dovine ground out. “Cause nothing makes you manlier than punching around a bunch of guys with a surplus of estrogen and no civil rights.” 

With a mix of sick anxiety and sore back, Eric shifted in his seat and tried to focus on his food and not the commanding officer who looked ready to make his table rounds again. Praise whatever gods might be listening, Eric was soon saved from a round 2, by his favorite carrier with no color matching skills. 

"Morning sunshine!” Taylor greeted, and Eric couldn’t help a half smile; dressed in lemon yellow, it was Taylor who looked like sunshine. “Ready for class?” 

“Ecstatic,” Eric said in a bitter monotone. “Cant wait to learn the finer points of painting my nails.” 

Taylor’s eyebrows arched up as he gave a dramatic look to his own manicure (lemon and lime stripes) and flashed his hand to Eric. “Jealousy is unbecoming , Carrier McDough,” he said with a wink. “Now c'mon, finish those last couple bites, I wanna go over a couple more things before your first class.”

And so it was with relief that Eric slunk by Jameson, half a muffin in his hand, to follow Taylor from the dining room. Back into the dormitory corridor they went, but took a right at the last fork rather than a left, through another set of industrial double doors, painted a nicer color to the attempt to look homey and not like re purposed retail archaeology. Past them, and the air was immediately familiar. Paper, pencil shavings, chalk dust and books, school smell was nearly universal, and Eric's heart panged for his classes back...back home. He'd just be getting into first hour chemistry right now, sitting in the third row by the wall, behind Caleb, who would fall asleep within the first seven minutes like clockwork. History, gym, lunch, drills, law, typical day. Maybe he could find some semblance of that routine here, at least. The classrooms, after all, looked standard enough.

"This is where morning class is held, Eric. All of you spend your time here until lunch, either listening to a lecture or doing your own study. 2 or 3 teachers rotate around to different groups as needed-

"What, like a one room schoolhouse?"

Taylor nodded, compulsively straightening a line of rolling chairs against a long table by the window. 

"Sort of. With so few of you, and all at different stages, joining us at different times, we can't exactly wait for a class to fill up before starting a new subject can we? So the baseline classes are just kinda put together when we need to, and your afternoon classes are taught in a loop. You might be in the middle of one and need to play catch up a little, but there's really no wrong place to start with learning to cook or keep house, Eric."

He nodded, picking at his thumbnail with one hand and idly flipped open a textbook lying on the table, scanning over walls of text too far away to read, and a couple photos of a happy couple in a pretty nature scene. Man and carrier, he was sure, and flipped back to the cover. Social Development. Brand new textbook, cobbled together and thrown out as though 4 years was enough to understand this personal and social psychology of the men who changed, let alone rewrite everything the world had known about social interactions, psychology, relationships; just more signs of a desperate world that Eric felt far too young, suddenly, to understand.

"...You ok, hon?" Taylor asked softly, reaching out to face the book towards him, looking for answers. "Hm. Yeah, you'll be assigned a copy for your schoolwork. It's not so bad, it talks a lot about the emotional side of the changes, how different cultures around the world have adapted, and how men and carriers can relate to one another and help each other-"

"Yeah...yeah, sounds great," Eric sighed, and turned awkwardly to look about the room. Clock read 8:56, classes started at nine..."So where do I sit?"

Within a few minutes the 11 other boys and men had filed in, chatting quietly, not nearly as racurous as Eric was use to seeing in a morning classroom. He thought perhaps the maturity and age of his classmates were the explanation, but coming in at the end of the group was Jameson, who closed the door behind him and called the room to attention.

This, at least, was familiar, and Eric stood alongside the other men in 2 rows, Captain Jameson in front, saluting the flag of the union and swearing fidelity, dedication, work, mind and body, to the furtherance of their country. The same routine had been done every morning at school, without fail, since Eric started kindergarten at five years old. Somehow, though, dedicating his body to the Union had never felt so very, very literal.

Pledges done and captain gone, the carriers scattered, taking familiar seats and settling down with books and open folders; for Eric, it was odd as hell to see men into their 30's sitting down for schoolwork, but he tried to not stare. God knew they were all used to being stared at and studied. Taylor by now was nowhere to be found, and Eric found himself sat near a corner at a small round table, with a boy near his own age and a man who introduced himself as Mr. Bloom, he of the infamous 2,000 breastfeeding essay. He was a big guy, well over 6 feet, and very sturdy looking. A long mustache gave him a look of a civil war general. Eric squirmed a little in his seat, wondering how qualified an obvious not-carrier was to teach them about being a carrier. He glanced sidelong at his companion, and god the poor guy looked positively ill from anxiety. Dark skinn had paled to a greyish color, and he couldn't stop pulling a loose thread on his sweater.

"...Child if you need to be sick, there's a wastebin under the table," their teacher said, not unkind but obviously Tired Of This Shit. "I don't care if you puke, but please try to hit the bin, hm? Perry, was it? Do you need something to drink?"

Perry shook his head, but Mr. Bloom didn't seem to take mind. He got up, strode over to a room that must be his office, and returned with a green can of ginger ale, popping the top and handing it to him.

"Tell anyone I gave you that and you'll be writing 3,000 words on the effects of estrogen on the body," he warned, and suddenly Eric had to wonder what infraction boobguy had earned.

"Alright, then? Alright, boys, welcome to day one. You've been here a couple weeks already, right Perry? Been taking the home ec courses?" he nodded, taking slow sips of the cold, fizzy soda. "And Eric, first class? Don't look so scared, I'm not here to bite your heads off, just trying to help you get some idea of what the blazes is going on. I've been an anatomy and physiology teacher since before the war. You're not here to take standardized tests, you don't get typical letter grades. You either understand or you don't, pass or fail. Got it?"

"Yeah...yes, sir," Eric said, cringing at his own words, but he was afraid that Mr. Bloom, as benign as he seemed, could be the next one to leave a bruise along his jaw if he didn't fall in line.

"Good. Alright, let's do a quick run-over of XX and XY typical sexual and secondary characteristics and then discuss what we know so far about their intersection. So in a typical testosterone-dominant XY body-"

Eric was very sure his ears were pink the entire 3 hours.

)o(

"How are your classes going sweetie?"

"Fine I guess...morning seminar is really long, but the afternoon classes are ok. I already know most of what they've taught in cooking, though."

"Yeah, I miss your macaroni and cheese," his dad said wistfully, laughing to himself. "You get a home visit at the end of a month right? A weekend?"

"Yeah, and I'll make mac and cheese, if Daniel makes bratwurst to go with...how is he?"

"He's alright Eric, he just got clearance from your powers that be, he's gonna take the next call ok? I'll send my love with him. But tell me more about school? Who teaches you?"

"Lots of people. Taylor teaches childcare and development. I guess that makes sense, he's got a kid at home, so...it's fine."

It was not, in fact, fine. Not even Taylor's upbeat disposition could mask the horrors that was That Class. Mr. Blooms anatomy lessons were embarrassing, having to label cross sections of body parts he didn't even have a month ago, document charts showing different stages of development and talk about uterine linings, but all that was clinical and detached. Taylor's classes were downright brutal. Way too physical, way too real. Maybe it had to do with the language he used, so personal. Your body, your baby, your husband. It was a class Eric had joined several sessions in, to where they were talking about newborns up to 3 months old. According to Dovine, he shouldn't count himself lucky; he'd loop back around in a month or so to the start of his spiel, which apparently started at conception and went into great detail about how carriers deal with pregnancy and birth, up to and including a lesson involving photos and a twenty minute long video of a delivery. Owen said if you passed out, you had to take the class over again till you made it, but Eric thought he might have been pulling his leg. Might. It definitely wouldn't surprise him.

"And your tube?"

Eric let himself have a small smile, feeling the tiny bit of residue left from the tape.

"Got it out about an hour ago. My throat is kinda sore, but I guess they trust that I'm not anorectic or whatever."

"They should see the way you eat at home if they had any doubt!"

"Carrier McDaugh, three minutes," the nurse said flatly, not even looking up from his magazine as Eric chatted away at the open phone booth. Bastard.

"Yeah...but I'm...I'm fine here, Dad. My room mate is showing me around. He's real smart, he speaks Welsh. Or says he does. I dunno, some of the words he teaches me sound fake. Oh, and his best friend Owen? He's teaching me to play chess. He's not very good though so I feel pretty evenly matched. And we have art class, and music on Fridays."

"That's good, sweetie, that's a plus, you never got to learn any of that back at your high school."

Well, it was a stretch by any means to count it as a positive, but, God, Eric needed anything right now, to cling to, to try and focus on. He breathed deep, letting his father's voice wash over him, and he wished he could bottle it up, record it, so at night when everything was silent and dark and he was all alone, he would have something to stave off the tears.

)o(

Saturday, no classes, and Eric was suddenly struck with 2 full days with very little structure after almost 3 weeks of having every minute of his day monitored. He asked his room mates what they did all weekend; Owen said sleep, Dovine said haunt the library. Tanner and Collin holed themselves up in the art room and Vance...well, he had no idea what Vance did; he was either horrifically shy or an asshole because he rarely left his room. So, for lack of decision, Eric followed his lead for most of Saturday, and finally started to unpack some of his things. Living out of a few duffel bags and apple boxes was getting old, and the quiet of the room was welcome.

Opening the drawers to his dresser, he was surprised to find them half full already; he'd almost forgotten that he CEC provided a few bits of clothes and, with curiosity being better than boredom, he picked through them. Cotton t shirts, all marked with Stillwater CEC on the chest, as though it were some prep school they should be proud to attend. Snug fitting briefs, "more suitable for a carriers particular needs," as Taylor had said. A pair of soft grey sweat pants that seemed almost indulgently warm, and- ah, yeah, there they were. One denim skirt, one long pullover style dress.

According to dad, boys sometimes wore skirts back before the war, if they were very daring, or bold, or artsy, but with the plague and the war and the glorification of all things masculine and brutal and harsh, it just...wasn't seen. Period, full stop. The only instances that Eric knew of were rentboys, on street corners or brothels, who used women's clothing and makeup to advertise their services, so Eric's associations were not...the best. The first time he'd seen a carrier in person, a long paisley skirt covering his knees, he'd stared at that nearly as long as he'd stared at the tiny wriggling potato he carried in his arms and had the audacity to call a baby human. He was gonna just...put those aside and pray Stillwater didn't change over to a uniform system. It was liberating to pile his jeans and corduroys overtop of them...the sweats, though, yeah, those could stay.

Taking one of the duffel bags, he packed his dirty clothes into it and went hunting for where he could do his laundry; the home ec room had a pair of washers and dryers, and it was a 'silver star' for them to do their washing on time, a gold if they finished their folding and ironing. Yeugh.

Expecting to find the room empty, he startled a bit to find Dovine and Owen bunched up around the stove, fighting over a recipe. 

"Owen you functional idiot you can't just add pop to sugar and get brown sugar, you're gonna fucking poison your husband."

"Good, cause I plan on marrying rich and being a young widow."

"Aw, you and Teagan on the rocks?"

"Dove I will fucking gut you with an orange zester I swear to- oh hey Eric."

Eric stood with his duffel bag over one shoulder, staring between his roomies, and just shrugged, crossing the room to dump his laundry into the machine. Yeah he knew how to separate out his darks and lights and colors, but also, he couldn't muster up the ability to give two shits right now. In it all went, a scoop of soap, fabric softener, press start, and he clammered up onto the machine to guard his clothes.

"We're trying to bake cinnamon raisin bread, wanna help?"

"I'm still on making pancakes; I don't think I'm advanced enough for anything involving yeast," he muttered, bent over and resting his chin on his hand as the machine beneath him filled with water.

"Suit yourself, you can still try some if we don't fuck it up."

"I dunno man, doesn't sound like I should trust Owen's skills," he said, and Dovine cackled. Owen just sneered, weaving his shoulders around to mock Eric's tone of voice.

"I'll have you know I can cook just fine, it's baking I suck at."

"Same," Eric sighed. "We didn't have a functioning oven for, like, 11 years? So my brother and I had to just made due on the stovetop or a grill."

Owen nodded knowingly, sympathetically, as he returned to his recipe book, and Dovine continued to hunt for the brown sugar, unearthing the elusive brown bag behind a large tub of rice.

"Who the fuck even...Jesus Christ. So Eric, you're an Endgame kid, huh? Were you in any of those articles growing up?"

In the 17 years since the plague, the Endgame Children had been a subject of intense fascination and obsession. Everyone wanted to know the lives of their final sons, everyone needed something to work for, to dedicate their hopes of salvation to.

"Ugh. Yeah, one. I had my picture taken with a friend when we started middle school. Back then they thought the class of '91 was gonna be the last to graduate, and it ran in some magazine, but then a couple years later the change started showing up, and they don't really care about any of us anymore."

"Well, most of y'all. They sure care about you."

"They care about whats between my legs," he groused, feeling crankier by the moment. At least the motions of the washing machine felt good on his hips and lower back; he had a hot patch stuck just above his tail bone, and it was helping, but only just barely. 

Owen measured out the sugar, sifted in the flour, and a bit of salt. 

"Yeah, that's about it, Eric," he sighed, mixing his dry ingredients together as Dovine melted butter. "But what's done is done and we can't change it. Might as well make the best of it."

"Pshyeah, thanks Taylor."

"Hey. Taylor may be way too fucking happy for his own good, but if you wanna look up to anyone here, it's him," Owen said, pointing his floured spatula his way. "Taylor played good boy, he worked the system, he keeps himself thin and pretty and sweet, and he gets to keep a part time job, and I've never seen him come to work with a black eye."

Eric narrowed his eyes towards his companions, appraising whether or not Owen was being serious. It appeared he was, and before Eric could open his mouth to bitch, Owen pressed on.

"It sucks, Eric, and I'm not gonna start here and give you this propaganda that we're saving our country. Honestly it's not any snot out of my nose if the world dies out. I'm an atheist, I don't believe in anything after death, so why should I are what happens to the world in 100 years? But until then, I just want to suffer the least amount possible."

"Then let's run to India. or Finland."

"Right, from Nebraska? Eric most of the Union is miles of wasteland, you know this. There's hasn't been a runway carrier yet even make it to the borders or the shore, and if you get caught, your life is more a hell than it would have been here. Naw, man, I got plans. I'm gonna marry rich, I'm gonna play the game, I'm gonna make sure my dad and little brother get looked after. I grew up pretty much homeless, I barely went to school, I've lost 5 teeth, I've got pre osteoporosis from being so malnourished as a kid...if popping out a couple of kids keeps me warm, dry and fed, then fine. Better than any other chance I got."

Quietly, Eric let this soak in, awkwardly scratching at his arm and tapping the heal of his tennis shoe against the machine.

"Yeah. well. And what about you, Dove? What's your deal then?"

At the counter, Dovine's mixing slowed down, finally reaching a full stop, and he looked off at a spot on the wall just beyond his bowl.

"I...I graduated high school at 16, valedictorian, received a full ride scholarship to 4 different universities. I'd just received my masters in aerodynamic engineering, majoring in reverse engineering pre-war aircraft, and was about to start my doctorate thesis on deconstructing fallen satellite debris to relaunch global internet communication. And then I changed. And now i'm here."


	6. Growing Up To Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bite to tide y'all over for the holidays

Every day it seemed harder and harder to get out of bed and drag his ass to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Eric didn't sleep for shit these days. At night he would crawl into bed as early as was acceptable, and lie there for hours, listening to music, reading by the light of his bedside lamp. Dovine slept like a rock, snoring just loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to annoy Eric much. He was too exhausted to care anyway.

Usually somewhere around midnight he would finally begin to drift off, but it was only for hours at a time, sets of nightmares and anxiety dreams broken up by trips to the bathroom, or to the kitchenette for water, or another chapter of his book. And if it wasn't nightmares keeping him up all night, it was his hips, making everything hurt from his shoulder blades to his thighs, or homesickness sweeping over him so strongly he thought he might drown, or the sound of a boy in the next room over trying desperately to be silent while he cried.

He wanted so, so badly to just go home.

By dawn, when he finally had to get up or risk Dove and Owen taking his covers away, he was sleepy and cranky and startling at every noise; not a conducive environment to be learning about how to keep your future spawn from dying of SIDS. Even worse was trying to iron a shirtsleeve or a pair of trousers while half-dozing, only to burn several of his fingertips. Again.

Which, oh yes, his therapist noticed.

"Another productive day in home ec?" Dr. Sworensen asked with a soft laugh, but Eric was unamused. He slung his backpack off his shoulder onto the floor and folded his body languidly onto one of the empty chairs in the shrinks office. Honestly, all things considered, this was a nice room. Dr. Sworensen's office was small but not claustrophobic, and the leather armchairs were worn in and comfy and covered with pillows and throw blankets and other delightful things to hide behind to avoid questions. On the walls hung seascapes and shadowboxes filled with shells and sand; living in the middle of the prairie his entire life, Eric had never been to the sea, but liked to imagine what the sand would be like, cold and wet, speckled with tiny treasures...yeah, it was an ok place. Hell, Dr. Sworensen might even be an ok guy. It was hard to be an impartial judge considering how desperately Eric wanted the man to go fuck himself. Bastard was always sitting there waiting for him; Wednesdays and Saturdays, 4pm, group on Monday mornings. Always with Eric's file open on his lap, an inviting smile on his face.

"So was it cooking again this time?"

"Ironing," he volunteered, hoping his usual tactic of one word answers could stave off the therapist. It worked, sometimes, for short periods of time.

"How're you liking your homemaking classes this week?" he pressed on, done remarking on Eric's bandaged fingers for a while, and he shrugged, slowly sinking down further into the cushions of the chair.

"Fine. Sure."

"You're getting good marks in all your classes, you know. That's good, it shows you understand your lessons have importance, and its a good way to stay busy."

"Like I have a choice?" Eric groused, shifting to find a way to sit where his hips didn't feel they were wanting to split apart like a pistachio shell. "I participate in class or I get disciplined, that's the story right?"

Behind his glasses, Dr. Sworensen looked, for just a moment, as exhausted and weary as Eric felt, and he steeled himself for a lecture at his mouthiness, but it didn't come. 

"That's about it, I suppose, but I know you're bright, Eric. You'd go nuts if you didn't stay busy-"

"And busy here means learning how to be a pretty, subservient wife to my old officer husband someday." The more he said it, somehow, the less real it seemed, like the words spoken aloud were layers of paint, obscuring the reality, the inevitable future that faced all 12 carriers at Stillwater.

"What would you have wanted to do, Eric, if you hadn't changed?" Sworensen wanted to know, and Eric gave another shrug, picking at his fingernails. Taylor gave him a couple bottles of polish, and Owen wanted desperately to show him how to paint them, but Eric said he'd rather pour them down Owen's throat. Owen considered this the start of a beautiful friendship and Eric didn't have the energy to disagree.

"Dunno...didn't wanna enlist, so I thought I'd see if I could get into a trade like my dad, or even university. I know you have to have high marks for college, but out here in the boonies, we still need laborers and shit, ya know?"

"You don't strike me as the kind of boy to want to spend his life driving long haul semi's or learning to repair oil wells."

"Yeah well what other choices are there? I spend a decade or so in the military, I get a manual labor job, or I somehow become a genius overnight and go to med school or some shit. Find a nice boyfriend, get a dog, get old, die. That's the life I grew up expecting, doc. That's the life we all grew up expecting. We went 13 years thinking the world was going to die with us so why would we plan too much for the future?"

"Those are good points," he conceded, and Eric looked suspicious, waiting for another lecture on how bad the war was, how devastating the plague was..."You know, I had a carrier, a patient, a couple years ago. 15, newly changed. He told me about how ever since he was little, he had nightmares, about being an old man, 70, 80 years old, and being all alone, starving because there was no one left to grow food, too old and weak to be able to work the soil or hunt himself, no one else around to rely on...I can't even imagine what a life you boys were born into."

Yeah...Eric had similar dreams too. It was a popular topic among the last generation, the conversation that came up when sleepovers got to the Deep Shit phase, when someone found photographs of their mothers, or older sisters, aunts and grandmothers and women they never met. They spoke of what might happen when thy were all that was left. Some suggested that everyone should congregate somewhere together once they hit 50 or so, and could still get around. Others wanted to just keep a gun around, to shoot themselves once they had no one left to live for. To endgame children, these moments were equal parts horror show and completely dissociated prattle. That was in the future, a lifetime away, FOREVER away, and they were teenagers who still felt immortal. They were harbingers to an apocalypse that still felt a millennia away-

"...Yeah. A lot of us had those."

"And did those nightmares go away or shift once news of the change became widespread?"

Eric pulled a layer off his thumb nail, then brought his hand to his mouth to gnaw on what was left. Around it he murmured, "Dunno. Not really. I was only 13 when it started, didn't really hear much of it besides rumors till I was 14. It just seemed...far away. I didn't intimately know anyone who changed, or married someone who changed. Just a teacher I barely saw after that."

"Did you boys ever talk about the possibility that you could change?"

Ah...now that one was harder. None of them spoke about it, at least not in their circle, but the possibility? Oh yes, it reached them all. It showed in their faces when the rumors began, when their dads and older brothers talked about what they'd heard from uncles on the coast and cousins down south. When the news spread and more facts were known and their teachers told them more, they all looked to each other with looks of awe, of disbelief, of confusion and, yes, of fear. When their teacher came back to show off a newborn baby, they all wanted to see this curiosity, a modern miracle, a sideshow attraction, but they all felt that sick repulsion later. What if it was them? What if this curse came upon their bodies and stole them away like a fairy's changeling child?

"...it just seemed like it was something that could never happen to you," he finally sighed, wincing as he bit too deeply into his nail bed. "And we were just kids...that seemed like...it was adults who were parents, you know? And we were just boys...and now I'm here. So I guess it doesn't matter what I wanted to be."

Dr. Sworensen, his pen always scratching over his file, finished a line and looked up, thoughtful.

"Do you think there are any aspects to your life now, or your life in the future, that you could see as a positive?"

"Could you, if you changed?" Eric flipped the question back to him, but the unruffled look on the therapists face showed that Eric was obviously not the first boy to ask this.

"Well, knowing you'll always have a roof over your head and food on your table would be nice, he said mildly. "Being able to take up music or painting or design as a hobby without ridicule, not having to shave everyday, eventually-"

"Yeah, and bleeding every month, having to worry about being raped, wondering if you'll die birthing your first kid or your tenth. There's no benefit to this that could make it ok!"

"What if you actually found someone you like?" he suggested, and Eric wanted to fucking gag at the suggestion.

"Nice men don't apply to wed carriers," he pointed out, but doc just wanted to know what made him think that.

Fucking-!

"Because, everything about our world has to be controlled. It's been this way my whole life, it's been this way my brothers whole life! The kind of men who are far enough in the ranks to be given a breeding wife are going to be assholes who get off on beating us around! And if you bring up Taylor as an example to the contrary, I'll scream. You know even if we find a decent guy, he can't...he can't fucking protect us. We still HAVE to get married, we HAVE to be pregnant or trying to get pregnant, we HAVE to fill some outdated idea of a womanly roll for old men who miss their moms or their first wives or whoever! We exist to fill in fantasies of a dead world while saving the one we're in, and I never signed up for that!"

No matter how upset he got, or how loud he screamed, Dr. Sworensen never rose to Eric's bait, and by now he was guessing that as long as the old shrink didn't feel physically threatened by the skinny carrier with a sore back, he would make no move to control him. Instead he let him have his fit, Eric sure that he was far from the first carrier to lose his shit over the Unfairness Of It All, and it was nice, at least, to have one 10x12 foot space where he could scream himself blue without fear of being tranq'd.


	7. Bury Me

Mr. Bloom, Eric decided with time, wasn't the worst teacher he'd ever had. That honor went to his freshman year English teacher, who had the misfortune of teaching Eric's own father when he was in high school. Considering that pre-plague Mitchel had the lasting reputation of a stoner who knocked up two girls within a year of each other, their family name was not exactly well liked. But here at Stillwater, there were no reputations. Nobody had anybody who had come before them, and for the most part, they were treated and judged entirely based on their performance. Assholes like Jameson notwithstanding.

Sure, Mr. Bloom's lectured were dry and humiliating and had Eric and Perry wanting to slide down so far into their seats that they disappeared entirely, but he was kind enough. He graded with a slice of grace, giving them chances to redo parts of essays or worksheets if they were on the cusp between a pass and fail. Eric, somehow, found himself usually on the passing side, which he attributed to his nights spent studying in his room. Being a level 2, there wasn't a whole lot else to do. Yeah he had the freedom to rent games or movies to play or watch with his new friends, and an hour more rec time than a level 1, but socializing was hard. As an Endgame child, he was the youngest boy there, with only a couple even near him. The average onset age of the change was late 20's, at least in this CEC, and he was still a high school student, not yet even given the permission to start dating. Thank God for that.

Mr. Bloom, of course, was always reminding him and Perry of that rapidly approaching inevitability and, along with Taylor, was doing all he could to prepare them for it. Today's lecture was on in-progress laws and legislature on carriers, and the debate in the UK over chemical birth control.

"It's still illegal here isn't it?" Perry asked quietly, and Eric saw a spark of hope in the boys dark eyes, willing their teacher to tell him he was somehow wrong.

Mr. Bloom, of course, nodded.

"That's right, barring extreme cases and situation that may endanger your lives. Nobody wants a dead carrier. We've seen enough corpses on these grounds, damn it."

"But condoms are ok, right?" Perry pressed on.

"Well, sure, but you'll be hard pressed to find a grocery or drug store that will sell them to a carrier, I'm sure you know that. So it will be up to your husband's discretion."

Naturally, Eric thought, but didn't have it in him to try and argue the point today. Perry, too, was quiet as he slunk back into his seat. Both of them had begun to learn to save their arguments and riotous behavior for only the most worthwhile of shit-stirring. Besides, Eric was tired, his hips and back were particularly achy, and he'd gotten to talk to his dad AND his brother the night before. Life was as good as it could get here right now.

The soft tone of a bell rang through the halls, signalling a fifteen minute break for the carriers, to get up, have a snack, stretch a bit, before their lessons continued. Eager to try and pop his back, Eric stood arching one way, and then the other, enjoying the crack of several vertebrae, before he felt Mr. Bloom's hand on his shoulder. He leaned so close that Eric swore he could feel his whiskers against his ear.

"Mr. McDaugh, you need to go to the restroom immediately. Take your bag, and I'll send Dovine back to your room for you."

Blank faced and empty-headed, Eric stared at his teacher, waiting for an explanation. Rather than answering in words, though, he just followed the mans hand as it reached for a box of tissues on his desk, ripped several from the box, and pressed them discreetly to a fresh, red stain on the rolling chair where Eric had been sitting.

"...oh...my God...", Eric breathed, looking desperately up at Perry, who's brown skin was tinging burgundy in sympathy, to his teacher, who just urged him on, completely unphased.

"It happens, child, just go, take care of yourself."

And Eric McDaugh absolutely bolted, slamming full bodied into the doorway and just being very thankful that it had a push-bar, to save him that additional trauma. Not caring about deep-set indoctrination about not running in school hallways, he rushed down towards the bathroom, praying somehow that it was empty.

Miracle of miracles, it was, for the moment at least, and he shot himself into the far stall, slung his bag over the hook, and frantically tugged at the buttons of his jeans, yanking them down to his knees.

"Shit...shit, omigod, shit!"

He didn't know what he'd expected his first period to be like. Comedy movie from back in the day usually showed women as monsters, pissy and in pain. Taylor told him he could be emotional or crampy, that his stomach could be upset. Dovine said his chest hurt when he started his, and Owen ate seconds at every meal for a week. But Eric felt hardly anything at all. except a little cold and damp now, and a little sick to his stomach seeing the bright red stain in his underwear and at the top of his thighs. Fuck, what was he even suppose to do? He didn't carry around spare underwear in his bag, and even his jeans were stained! Fuck!

For several minutes he was unable to do anything but pray that nobody had to pee, and he wanted to cry when he finally heard the door creak open.

"Eric?"

Double fuck. Of course, Mr. Bloom said he was going to send Dovine!

"Hey, kiddo, you in here?"

"...yeah..." Eric managed to squeak out, his throat feeling tight around a burning lump.

"Alright, hey hon. I went back to our room, got you some clean panties and a pair of sweats. And some wet wipes from my drawer. They really help, trust me, you'll feel a lot better once you're cleaned up a bit hm?"

Eric didn't make a verbal response, just let out a barely audible little "mmhm", and let Dove slide his little care package under the stall door. He'd thrown everything into a plastic bag to keep it off the filthy bathroom floor, and Eric hooked his foot into the handle to pull it closer. Yup, CEC sweats, blue and black striped briefs, a few pads wrapped in swirly turquoise paper, a pack of "sensitive and gentle" wipes for carriers. Eugh.

Dove was right, at least. Getting himself cleaned up was a good choice.

"Don't feel bad, k Eric?" Dove called through the door, where he stood with his back towards the stall. "I had mine in class too. Owen had his while he was asleep, ruined his sheets. It's normal, and none of us are in position to be making fun of each other, ok? We're not middle school girls twenty years ago or anything."

Eric couldn't talk. He was far too busy trying to get every bit of blood leaned up off his thighs.

"Do you...I put the little paper insert in the back too, in case you need help with the pad...it's kinda hard to get it right. Tampons are a lot easier...I can help if you-"

"No! 'M fine!"

"O, take your time."

Three minutes later, Eric slunk out of the stall, his dirty clothes piled in the grocery sack, and washed his hands under the hottest water he could stand.

"...Feels weird," is all he finally said to Dove in the silent bathroom, lathering up for the second time.

"Yeah, they're kinda bulky. You get use to it though, promise. Bloom said you're excused from the rest of lecture for the day, and can go lie down or relax in the rec room till lunch. And lucky me, I get to ditch too!"

"What, to be my babysitter?"

"To keep you company. Eric your hands are getting to be about as red as your face."

Well, so they were. Eric sighed, twisted off the tap and grabbed a fistful of paper towels.

"...I'm ok, I'm sorry, I;m k, Dove-"

"No you're not, and that's alright. None of us are ok when this happens, but we just gotta learn how to make it better."

Still not wanting to make any eye contact, Eric peered up at his older room mate, and with a twist in his stomach remembered his tirade in the home ec kitchen. This guy was a near genius, he was going to be an actual rocket scientist, he was programming machines that Eric couldn't even spell, but all that knowledge for what now? To be locked away in a school, awaiting a husband and a dozen babies?

None of this read on Dove's face, though. He just smiled kindly, if a bit awkwardly, to his room mate, and then tipped his head to the door.

"Come on, the rec room will be empty, let's go pop in a game or something, huh?"

"...Yeah. Yeah, that sounds alright for now...thanks."

)o(

Eric bled four days and hated every one of them. He was in a constant state of discomfort from the damp, bulky feeling between his legs, and he took to bathing twice every day in an attempt to feel clean for an hour or so. Blessedly he seemed to not be in too much agony from cramps; it was pretty indistinguishable from his usual aching hips (which were another hell altogether; 5 weeks since his change and he now had thin red lines at his hips, stretch marks form the sudden growth.)

All in all, it could have been worse, he thought, once he finally graduated to a day of just a thin liner in his underwear for a day. At least, that's what he thought until, indeed, it got worse.

He was fully expecting to be called to the infirmary. He knew they were expected to keep their cycles charted with the nurses, to check for any abnormalities that may cause problems for their higher calling. What he didn't expect was to find Captain Jameson waiting for him outside the exam room after he'd had his vitals recorded.

'ShitshitshitSHIT,' his internal monologue began to scream upon seeing all his glistening buttons, medals and pins. 'What did I do, what is HE gonna do?!'

"Carrier McDaugh," he greeted with his usual prim rigidity, and Eric tipped his head down, as much out of fearful respect as out of fear.

"Sir."

"Why don't you follow me?"

Like he had any choice?! Heart pounding behind his ribs, Eric followed the center's high directer, his own slippered feet seeming absolutely vulgar behind his glossy leather boots. Jameson lead him into a small room still in the hospital ward, what looked like a closet turned into a consultation room. It was mostly bare save for a desk, a phone, a few chairs, and a couple tacky pictures that looked ripped form a calendar as old as Eric was.

"Have a seat, Carrier," and he did so, having learned long ago that obedience to Jameson was really the only intelligent course of action. Still, he was hardly comfortable on these hard plastic seats, and wished he'd brought his little pillow to sit on.

Across form him, on the other side of the desk, Jameson held Eric's blue folder, and flipped it open, sorting through the growing collection of papers.

"So, you just ended your first menstruation, congratulations," he said, and Eric's cheeks turned pink.

"Uh, yeah. Sir." What the hell did one even SAY to that?!

"That's an awfully important milestone you know," he pressed on, finally pulling what seemed to be the appropriate sheet from the stack. "Sounds like you handled it well. No signs of anemia. That's good, glad you're still healthy."

"...Thank you? Sir?"

"Indeed. So!" He tipped the paper over, turning it toward Eric, and he glanced down, trying to make sense of all the technical jargon and abbreviations on this paper. Several boxes formed a chart in 2 columns. On the left were dates. Just 2, the same date written in two boxes, and in the next column, 2 red stamps, reading LVL1 and LVL2, respectively.

"Level 2 first day, very impressive," he sad, praising Eric on his cowardice slash bravery for about the tenth time. "That's what we want from our carriers, you understand. Obedience and a sense of duty. You may be a little mouthy, but you breeders all are at first, aren't you?"

God Eric hoped he wasn't actually suppose to answer that because he had no words there that wouldn't result in revoked privilege, at BEST.

"And now that you've had your first healthy cycle, that's cause for more celebration, I think?" With this, he leaned down, fiddling with something behind the desk for a moment, and Eric heard a metallic click and then the smooth roll of a drawer being pulled open. From its depths, Jameson retrieved a little beige and black box, a plastic cover on the end, and Eric recognized it easily as a stamp. With mild curiosity, he watched Jameson write in the days date in the first column, and then- THAWCK!- punch the stamp down onto the paper. Turning it back with a flourish, Eric looked at the damp, red ink. LVL3.

Oh, goody goody gumdrops.

"Oh, ah...thank you, Sir..."

"You've earned it, Carrier McDaugh, and you should be thrilled! Level 3 comes with plenty of new privileges."

Eric kept his mouth firmly shut, just nodded, wanting so bad to be able to bolt back to his room. Jameson made him uneasy...hell, he made all the carriers uneasy, but he was fresh from one of Taylor's lectures about being sure to not be brazen, or attract attention, or be alone with a man...of course he as sure Taylor would never accuse a commanding officer of being a danger to his boys, but that was just plain self preservation!

"Let's see, yes, Level 3 means a day visit home every other week, another 2 hours of recreation time a week, and of course, you'll be registered as eligible for courtship now."

Eric's ears filled with an odd, distant ringing noise, which only seemed to go up in pitch the more he struggled to make sense of the word's Jameson had just spoken. Courtship? Court...like playing basketball? That's on a court...no, courtship, like dating, he was...dating?"

"...S...Sir? I um...I'm only 17? Is that...I've only been here 5 weeks, so...'M 17..."

"Yes, I can read, Carrier McDaugh, your birth date is listed right on your ID," he snapped, his eyes narrowing at what he perceived to be a slight against his intelligence. "Tell me, Carrier, what is the age of consent in the union?"

"... ... 15, Sir."

"And which is higher, 15 or 17?"

"17, Sir."

"Smart boy, you can count to at least 17, how nice. Honestly, Carrier McDaugh, women have been married and having children at 14, 15, 16, 17, since the dawn of time. It's natural, you're bleeding, you're healthy. We'll get a nice picture taken for your profile. Cute as you are, and an Endgame Child? You'll have officers my rank just lined up for a try with you. I'm sure this time next year your little friends with be getting baby announcements-Carrier McDaugh get BACK HERE!"

Level 3. Level fucking 3. Obedient, mindful, healthy, sweet. Eligible. Well fine, then. if that's what it took to be a level 3 and level 3 meant a husband, then it seemed like the most logical choice, at the time, to do whatever he could to no longer be a level 3.

Eric ran.


	8. Taller than Everest and Deadlier Than K2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short bit, but I just wanted to drop everyone a bite since it had been so long!

As Eric ran, his mind whirled with his limited possibilities for hiding places, because of course all he could do was hide. With those wired fences all around the CEC, running away was no option. True, neither was hiding, but it would postpone the inevitable wouldn't it?

Not his room, of course. Not the dorms at all. The rec room, maybe, but it would take too long to get there. Another exam room? No, too clean and clinical and sparse. 

The answer came to him just as he careened around a corner, and he made another hard right towards an almost abandoned hallway. Back in it's retail days, it might have been business and security offices, but now it was a dusty collection of old computers, broken desks and appliances kept to scrap for parts. Some had a few working computers and wiring, but Eric had never seen anyone use them. A graveyard of technology, old and new, and his only possible sanctuary.

Eric hit the door with enough force to swing it into the wall, and he hoped nobody would hear. Immediately his eyes fell on the back corner of the room, crowded by, as he knew, 2 standing refrigerators, an industrial fan, a dozen broken towers, a stack of classroom chairs 6 feet high, and Rubbermaid totes full of god knows what. With the ability he gained as a child tearing through bomb and bullet poced fields,Eric clambered up this mountain of metal and plastic, flattening himself down in the back corner near the ceiling as tiny as he could get 

And it was only then that he realized his always empty room was not, in fact empty. Indeed, not only was the room full of men, but they were men in crisp military uniforms and shiny metal badges.

Eric swore his body regrew balls just so they could reascend back into his belly. Shit. /Shit!/

"...Did you fucking see that?" A young redheaded officer asked, and from the crack between boxes Eric could see all four of them stand to peer up at the pile.

"Language, Madison," a grey haired one said, sharper and much older.

A third, this one built like a micro tank, stepped forward and knocked on the fridge door like the entrance to an apartment.

"Alright there son, come on down, your little adventure’s over," he said with the air of a man who always got his way. But Eric was frozen, his heart about to burst behind his ribs with just how cosmically fucked he was.

"Child, we all saw you run up there and I'm sure your doctor or counselor or whoever set you off is going to be here soon. Come down and face your actions like a carrier."

Silence, as Eric prayed to God to make him disappear right here and now, just kill him, because he was as good as dead regardless.

“...Now listen here you little shit,” the redhead began again, and he couldn’t have been more than 10 years older than Eric, though his temper seemed that of a 12 year old. They’d let anyone be an officer these days if daddy had enough money.

Finally, though, the last spoke up, a black man with long coils piled tightly into a bun.

“Madison, that’s enough. Young man, listen to me. You know as well as I do that you can’t stay up there forever,” he began in a calm, carrying voice. “I’m sure you’re scared, that’s why you’re up there to start with, isn’t it? But you’re going to end up a lot better if you come down on your own accord now than if they have to tear this room apart to get you.”

Yeah, he fucking knew that, but less trouble wasn’t NONE trouble and it was still a lot more trouble than he thought he could handle. He ran from Captain Jameson who was, as far as he knew, the highest overall authority over the CEC. He was fucking dead, so very fucking dead, so as far as he was concerned this was just a few more stolen moments of freedom.

The officer in the bun, however, didn't seem to lose any patience.

“Come on, young man, why don’t you just scoot down, this side looks easier, I’ll help you down if you need-”

In the hallway, there was a near growl of voices, Jameson shouting at someone, obviously furious.

“Hm. I know, child, I know. But why don’t you come down and face your punishment like a man rather than cower up there like they expect a carrier to do.”

Beside him, the tank scoffed, but the last officer was undaunted.

“Kid ain’t coming down, I’m getting Jameson,” the gray haired one said, and as he turned towards the door, Eric finally squeaked out a “no!”

“Hm?”

“Don’t...don’t. I’ll...I’ll come down. Just don’t get that psycho.”

“Lot of disrespect to show an officer, Carrier,” the tank growled, but Eric ignored him, and on shaky legs began to lower himself down from atop the fridge. This seemed like a fucking terrible idea, but so did staying up there and letting Jameson get angrier. Not that he wanted that bunhead officer to know he was right.

Behind him, Said officer stood near, hovering just out of reach in case Eric fell off his makeshift jungle gym, but he was fine, perfectly fine, till the moment his sneakers touched the ground and Jameson threw the door open.

)o(

Eric was in so, so very much trouble, to the point where he wasn't’t even panicking. He was far too numb from his fear to actually be feeling it. 

“Listen up, carriers, I have quite the tale for you this afternoon,” Jameson told the classroom full of carriers, most already in their pajamas for the evening; Owen even had his hair back in a headband to keep it from sticking to the pink clay mask he had on his tan face, the wide circles around his eye only serving to make them look wider, more scared. “Your new friend Eric decided to have a little unauthorized stroll through Med and Tech. Now, Jacob, can you tell me, do we allow that sort of behavior here at Stillwater?”

Jacob, a quiet Taiwanese boy of 28, rubbed his arms vigorously, shifting his weight from hip to hip as he shook his head.

“No, sir, we do not.”

“We do not,” jameson nodded, and his grip on Eric’s wrists tightened behind his back, making the young carrier wince. “Can you tell me why, Perry?”

Poor Perry looked ready to shit himself for being singled out, and he stammered his way through an answer.

“We could...it’s dangerous...we’d be hurt?”

“It’s very dangerous for you boys out there, you must understand that,” Jameson agreed, looking around his circle of terrified charges with pride. “What we do here is for your own good, carriers, to keep you safe and healthy and away from men who would want to hurt you. And if you break our rules, you’re only hurting yourself, is that understood?”

A chorus of Yes, sir’s, echoed around the room from all but Eric and the two guards at the doors. If Jameson wanted Eric to speak, he was going to be waiting a while. Fear had struck him mute.

Suddenly, Jameson shifted, letting go of one wrist but tightening his hold on the other as he raised Eric’s arm high above his head. And Eric was petite and, thanks to the change, would likely never grow as tall as the men who changed later in life. What was having him marked as a pretty, petite and feminine carrier was now serving only to nearly rip his arm from the socket. Finally, he was vocal, crying out once. 

“Eric, I’m disappointed in you. Having turned yourself over for registry, I’d hoped you wouldn’t give us any trouble, and we could find you a sweet, caring husband and have you all settled in by summer, but you’re not going to be that easy, are you?”

“Suck a dick, Jameson!” Eric heard someone say, realizing with no small amount of horror that it was himself. Around him, the room stilled, 11 boys and men gawking, unable to take their eyes off this car wreck.

Jameson didn’t even miss a beat as he grinned indulgently at Eric and asked, “Should it be yours, Carrier?”

There was no way Eric heard that correctly, and his brown eyes met jameson’s with numbness and disbelief. It...it was not as though it would surprise him in any way, that jameson would fuck and/or fuck with the men under his protection. No, it was the carelessness with which he made that threat that stunned Eric and had the air unable to leave his lungs.

Obviously very pleased with his carrier’s reaction, Jameson laughed, and used his free hand to stroke down Eric’s pale cheek. “Don’t worry, Er, you’re too valuable a commodity. Not that you aren’t my type, but I try to leave the virgins pure for a better sell.”

Jesus Christ what had Eric done to land himself in such a circle of Hell?

“However, child, you still have today to answer for. You ran away from your commanding officer and made an embarrassment out of me in front of the security team. Do you know how it feels to have a little pet embarass you in front of your superiors, Carrier McDaugh?” Oh how Eric longed to spit out a smartass answer to such a question but his tongue and throat seemed to be on strike. Somehow he knew this wasn’t going to save him any that night.

Indeed, Jameson just yanked him along with him over to one of the long tables that they used as desks for their classwork, shoving aside butcher paper sheets covered in marker drawings of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ choices in grocery shopping carts.

Eric felt the pain across his front before it even registered that he was falling. Or, more like, being pushed, his cheek cracked hard against the particleboard and laminate tabletop. From the audience, someone gasped, and another man quickly hushed him.

“I do not tolerate this behavior, McDaugh,” Jameson began, and from the sloppy pile of markers and scotch tape and yarn and other craft supplies, he withdrew a yardstick, the sort with the metal strip running down the side, and only then did Eric finally try to move again.

“McDaugh, I am twice your size and easily 3 times as strong. There are two other officers here and at least 6 carriers stronger than you and I will not hesitate to assign someone to hold you down.”

His threats were not encouraging obedience at all, and Eric struggled, pulling down with all his weight to slither off the table and onto the floor, survival instincts overriding common sense.

It had...the predictable outcome, and within moments there was a guard on the other side of the table, pressing a strong hand onto his back and taking Eric’s other hand. Behind him, over the sounds of his own struggles, he could hear the murmuring of the other carriers start to pick up, becoming almost a low roar, but they were all silenced as the first strike snapped across Eric’s thighs. Before he could even get in a breath, there was a second, and a third. Sound only returned with the fourth, a harsh intake of breath that seemed to be the damn that opened and allowed him to really feel the fifth and final strike.

It was all over within ten seconds, each hit of the stick coming right atop the last, until finally he could, as he’d wished, sink onto the floor, right at jamesons feet, and in his breathless haze Eric was sure that pleased him.

Beside him on the thin gray carpet, the yardstick fell.

“Hope you paid attention, boys. Don’t run from us, don’t fight us. You do as we say, and everything will be better for you. Goodnight, boys, see you at breakfast in the morning.”

And just like that, he and the other men left, the heavy door closing with a stifling slam behind them.

“Eric, oh my GOD.”

Dove was the first one to his side, Owen, Perry and the others all following right behind, a hoard of scared, helpless men doing whatever they could to feel less scared and helpless.

“Eric, oh Eric, honey, I’m sorry,” Dove groaned, letting Eric cling to him with sharp nails and trembling hands. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, there was nothing...we can’t...you’re ok, Eric, you’re ok.”

And Eric knew he was lying. It was Dove in the bathroom just last week who told him, it wasn’t ok, none of them were ok and they all knew it.


	9. All Grown Up

The bathroom filled with steam and chatter, the mingling scene of different shampoos and body washes blending together into an intoxicating, fruity perfume as a dozen boys showered and washed for bed.

Eric was not very willingly among them. Eric was very content to crawl onto bed, pull the covers over his head and hibernate till the next war. Dovine and Owen, however, were having none of that, and all but carried their younger friend over to the bathroom, insisting that he would somehow magically feel better after a shower.

Eric wasn't so sure, but he didn't have the will to fight it. He hurt, and his friends were an almost unstoppable pair when they made up their mind.

"Ok there Eric come on, bunch up, you and me are small but Owen has a fat ass," Dove teased, hip checking his friend.

Owen didn't seem offended at all.

"Fuck off, Dove, you're just jealous my hips give me a better figure."

"Your hips make your boyfriends think of babies," he dismissed, pointing the shower head down as he adjusted the temperature. The shower stalls in the bathroom were nice, six of them lined up, each about twice as big as a bathroom stall, with a plastic bench along one side, and a mesh shelf on the other, stocked with generic standard shower shit. Nobody used that past their first week. They had their families bring stuff from home, traded with richer boys or flirted with their dates for money. They were a micro world of miserable boys, building up a banana republic based on doing whatever they could to make these traitorous bodies easier to tolerate.

Of course Eric's dad was a high school drop out who'd knocked up two girls within a year in high school, so money was tight. Once again, it didn't stop his pair of friends, who went around taking a collection basket of shit to borrow, and within a few minutes, Eric had some fancy coconut mask in his hair, a coffee scrub sloughing off the grunge around his chest and shoulders and a vanilla sugar body wash handed to him with a purple poof.

"So level 3 huh, it's not so bad, Eric! Honestly dates aside it's great having the extra rec time! And you've finished with Blooms crash course, so you can take up some art or poetry now huh?"

Eric shrugged, not caring about anything at all right now, and let Dive scrub between his shoulder blades. Dovine had just stripped in the shower along with Eric, very comfortable being naked, which Eric found...striking. He hated his new body, how different everything felt between his legs, how getting turned on made everything feel damp and uncomfortable. He hated the red lines blossoming across his hips and his thighs, hated how the muscle in his arms was deteriorating. Everything was foreign to him, and what...what Jameson did to him was just making his body feel more and more Not His. 

"It's gonna start warming up soon, you know. Do you know how to play volleyball, Eric? I use to play in high school, and started again when I got here."

"I don't," he told Owen, and Owen just shrugged, continuing to chatter on about the supposed good things that would be open to Eric now, since Jameson didn't dock him a level. As he spoke, he moved, because Owen couldn't sit still for shit, delicate spray from the shower sticking to his brown skin and darkening his blonde hair.

That wasn't what Eric was paying attention to, though.

He didn't mean to stare. He really didn't. But Owen’s shirt was starting to dampen, the baby blue cotton becomon slick and clingy and more than a little see through...Dove, it seemed, noticed at just about the same time, and was a lot less shy than Eric.

"Jesus Christ, Owen, buy a fucking bra!"

The words were a hiss barely audible over the sounds of the bathroom at night, but Owen heard just fine and crossed his arms defensively in front of his chest.

"Shut up, Dove, they're nothing at all, how do you know I'm not just flabby?"

"Because you wear a size 4, dumbshit, and they're not nothing, Eric couldn't stop gawking!"

Unfolding his arms, Owen tugged at his shirt, holding tight against his chest where 2 very small, swollen curves were just starting to press against the fabric.

"Ok, yeah...maybe I should at least wear 2 shirts."

"A /bra/, Owen!"

"Getting a bra is too obvious, asshole, it gives everything away!"

"What the fuck, Owen, you're...Jesus I'm too tired for this," Eric all but cried, suddenly wanting to curl up and implode in on this treacherous body. "What The fuck?? I didn't think...am I gonna-?"

"Calm down, kid," Owen sighed, slipping a hand over the swinging door to grab a towel off the hook, wrapping it around his shoulders so the ends would mask his chest. "You don't have to worry. Not till you're pregnant, at least."

)o(

Owen, it came out, was about 8 weeks pregnant by his own estimate, meaning it could be either Captain Teagan’s baby, or Captain Weisman’s.

"I thought Teagan was old and gross," Dove wanted to clarify, sitting cross legged on Eric's bed with him, combing some kind of oil into their hair. 

"Yeah...but he's loaded. Old money. And he's on like 5 different meds so hell probably die young."

"And leave you a single mom with 4 kids by then?"

"A single mom with a 6 figure widows pension. And like I said, it might be Weisman’s. I’ll get a bloodtest in a couple weeks, after I fess up."

Eric shivered, cold even beneath his sweatshirt.

"You seem calm...I thought the center freaked out over unwed moms?"

Nothing seemed to phase Owen, who was quite happily munching through a bag of fruit snacks.

"Yeah, to an extent, but pregnancy and motherhood is our holy calling, right ? I'm just on the fast track."

"I somehow don't think childbirth is equal to taking advanced placement classes," Dove snickered, and tied a floral and paisley bandana around his head to protect his pillow from the oil in his hair.

Owen scoffed, tossing a pillow over at the other two.

"Easy for you to say, Mr STEM field. For me, the quicker I pop out some rich bastards babies, the quicker I don't have to worry about my future."

Eric tried not to stare, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't take his eyes off Owen, not knowing what to do to with this information. Owen was pregnant. Had been since he met him. There he was, tank top and sweat pants, not seeming phased at all by the human being growing inside his belly, not for whichever man put it there.

"...Er, you ok?" Dovine asked at his side, prodding him gently. "Come on...this is a good thing. Owen wants babies, and a rich husband, and he’s gonna be a good mom...you don’t have to worry about this yet ok? Not yet-”

“But soon,” Eric interjected, waving away Dove’s ever-fluttering hands. “Right? They’re already saying I should be dating, and I’m not even 18 yet. How long they let us just slide along before they just assign us someone sight unseen?”

“A year and a day,” Owen supplied, and Eric felt a pit drop into his stomach.”

“Jesus Christ, I was joking, they really do that?!”

Owen winced, sensing easily that he fucked up.

“I...yeah, I thought you knew, I figured Taylor would have told you-”

“Taylor isn’t allowed to say anything that would scare us,” reminded Dove. “And he’s so scatterbrained right now with the baby anyway. But...yeah, Eric. A year and a day after your intake, they match you up with someone...then you get a week to throw together a quick wedding...don’t let it get to that, Eric. They always go with the shittiest men that nobody chose.”

“So now not only is this place a living Hell, it’s a Hell with a time clock.”

)o(

“Sweetie, come on, come here, Tori, let Momma get your socks on please?”

Kim Park watched his wife chase down their toddler with a mixture of amusement and pity. Taylor wasn’t getting around quite as fast as he usually did, not being nearly halfway through his second pregnancy. Indeed, though, he put up a valiant effort and with just a smidgeon of help from Daddy, Tori was wrangled onto his mother's lap and soon had a bright pink sock on one foot, and a neon green one on the other.

“At least we’ll never lose him in a crowd,” Kim remarked over his coffee, as his wife showed Tori how his socks matched Mommy’s fingernails, which delighted the little boy to no end. 

“Pretty?” Taylor asked, and his son nodded hard enough to nearly knock his skull into mom’s nose.

“Yeah! I like purple, and toast.”

“Well how about purple jelly on toast for breakfast?” Taylor asked, and received another concussion worthy response, yes.

“You going in to the center today?” Kim asked, taking another sip of his quickly cooling coffee.

Taylor nodded as he took a slice of wheat bread from the package and slid it into the toaster, plunging it down. Green and purple earrings jangled against his neck; once the new baby came, it would be grabby hands all over again, and he’d have to retire the earrings again for a year or so.

“Yeah, not till lunch, though. Your stepmom can’t take Tori till then- shit,” he paused, pulling his cellphone from the back pocket of his jeans. “Hello? ...yeah, he’s mine…..he did /what?/ Are you sure? Eric’s a good kid...no, I know he’s new, but I just...yeah, no, I can be there in like, an hour? ...twenty minutes?”

Wide eyed, Taylor turned around to look pleadingly at his husband, but Kim just spread his hands out, indicating his uniform. He was facing a promotion by the end of summer, and missing out on morning duties to look after his wife’s duties was not something his troupe leader was going to tolerate much longer. Apologies hung in the air between then, and Taylor looked from his husband to his son and back.

“No, yeah, I’m still here, Sir, I can...I can be there in twenty, if I can bring Tori? ...yeah, they always get a kick out of seeing him….oh, I agree, it would be wonderful for Eric to- yes, of course, Sir. See you in twenty.”

Taylor made damn sure the call was disconnected before describing just what he wanted to do to his boss in a very colorful array of English and Korean. He didn’t shut up till Kim’s arms were around him, giving him a hug-slash-shake to calm his nerves.

“More work, Taylor?”

“One of my boys had...a rough night. He got raised a level and freaked out, he just needs some guidance is all. He’s a good kid.”

“...you know it’s gonna be harder for you to pack up for extra time once the baby comes.”

“I did it after Tori was born,” Taylor reminded him, raising a hand to the small curve of his belly ashe kissed his husbands cheek. “And your mom says after the second kid, it all evens out.”

Taylor whirled away before Kim could get in another word, pulling out the hot toast and adding a spoon of grape jam on top, cutting it into pieces perfect for sticky little hands.

“What do you think, Tori, wanna go to work with Momma before we go see Gramma?”

)o(

By 730, Eric was washed, dressed, and sitting in his counselors office, with said counselor, his intake physician, Professor Bloom, Taylor, and fucking Jameson, all in a circle facing Eric. He hadn’t wanted to disappear so badly, nor had his face burned so hot, since his first exam at the center 6 weeks ago.

“Eric, please sit up. We want you to be a part of this conversation,” Dr. Sworenson advised in that ever patient voice of his. “We know you had a difficult night last night and we just want to talk to you about it.”

“Why isn’t my dad here?” Eric wanted to know, tapping the heel of his sneaker against the metal leg of his chair. “If this is suppose to be about me shouldn’t my dad be here?”

“You’re old enough to be facing the consequences of your actions, McDaugh,” Jameson spoke up, obviously intent on leading this entire bullshit summit.

“Besides,” Taylor spoke in far more gently, “Your father works shift work, doesn't he? And he gets docked for this sort of thing...we didn’t tell him about your issue last night, since it’s a first offense, sweetie. This is...just a precautionary meeting with us, ok? Before we have to get your dad involved.”

Eric nodded, knowing that's what Taylor wanted to see. Down the hall he could hear Taylor’s little boy let out a delighted shriek, as two of the engaged carriers were babysitting him.

“Excellent!” Taylor chirped, clapping his hands together once. Jameson honestly looked like he wanted to backhand the chipper carrier. “So, baby, why don't you tell me your side of what happened yesterday?”

Oh, this was baiting and Eric knew it, even if Taylor didn’t intend for it to be. He’d sat through enough talks with his doctor and shrink to know it! SO he relaxed his fists, took a deep breath, and tried to be calm about this whole thing.

“I...don’t think I’m ready to be a level 3,” he told the men and carrier around him. “I’m only 17, and I haven’t even been here 2 months yet...I don’t think 17 year olds make good wives or moms.”

“We’ve had boys your age, even younger, find themselves very nice husbands who are understanding of their age,” his physician tried to convince him. “And courtship doesn’t mean you’re going to be married right away, let alone pregnant."

Eric was beyond skeptical, but still struggled to keep his voice calm.

"So what if I get married soon, and my husband wants babies right away, but I wanna wait till I'm older. Who gets their way?"

Each man was quiet, digging through their verbal supply closets to find the right combination of words to calm this deluded little carrier.

"Eric," his therapist began, "we understand that with so many changes so fast, it's easy to feel overwhelmed. That's one of the reasons why finding a husband quick is beneficial. It offers a new stability."

"And besides sweetie, even if you think you don't want kids right away, once your husband brings you to your own home and you start your new life together, you'll be surprised how quick you start thinking about starting a family!"

Eric noticed that Taylor's hands barely left his belly the whole time he spoke...he actually seemed to believe what he was saying, even.

And, of course, it was Jameson who killed it.

"McDaugh, all of that is irrelevant. You tried to run last night and you need to understand that your actions have consequences."

"Like beating me?"

"Corporal punishment is an option, Carrier, yes. But there are harsher things for breeding boys who don't know how to fulfill their service role to the Union. The last thing a sweet kid like you wants is to end up on a reform program, do you understand?"

No, he didn't, because such an idea was foreign to him, and there just wasn't more room in his heart for another boogeyman right now. He was far too worried about another round with Jameson, worried about his dad and being sent away, worried about ending up with some abusive asshole who wanted 12 kids, when just 2 months ago his biggest concern in the world was whether he and his friends would be able to secure time at the soccer field that weekend. God, he missed them. He wondered if the news had reached them yet, either directly or for the rumor mill. Nobody else in their school had disappeared like he did, no kids at least, but from other schools, sure, it had happened. There one day, gone the next. Or maybe they’d heard different, heard he was dead, and he’d scare the piss out of everyone in a few years, showing up on his dad’s porch with a wedding band and a baby carrier. 

Something pricked behind his eyes, burning and wet, and they must have thought he was about to cry from fear alone, because everyone but jameson suddenly became very, very sweet.

“Oh sweetheart, nono,” Taylor cood, leaning forward as much as his belly would allow and patting Eric’s lap. “It’s not as bad as everyone on the outside makes it seem, honey! Look at me and my Kim! We have Tori, and another little one soon, and I’m happier than I ever thought I could be when I first started to change!”

That was absolutely not helping him, and that burning came even faster.

His shrink spoke next, reminding him that his emotions were valid but his reactions to them were a choice, and in his situation it is very important that he value the choices he was still given, which was just a sanitized way to say, stop crying, you’re making me look bad. Which was a shame because Sworenson wasn’t the worst person here. True, it was hard to beat out Jameson for that title, but still.

Jameson, of course, seemed completely unphased by Eric’s near tears. Indeed, he was probably more entertained than anything by them. 

"Carrier McDough, I stand by what I said last night. Our rules at Stillwater only reflect the laws put into place by the government to keep you safe. You carriers are precious to us, you’re more valuable than you could ever realize, and once you understand that, I hope this attitude of yours will mellow out. I understand you’re still just a child, but-”

“Captain Jameson, if I am still a child, then how is it you expect me to have a child myself?” Eric breathed, and just the weight of those words seemed impossible to bear, falling like drops of lead in the middle of the room.

He expected to be hit again. It honestly wouldn't have surprised him at all. But with so many around, Jameson had to at least pretend to be socially conscious.

“...Allow me to correct myself, then. You were a child. And now, Carrier, it’s time to grow up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall don't even know how much i love your comments


	10. Bachelor Number One

“Hey there, Eric! God, look at you! I hardly recognize you!”

Eric felt like he flew across the lobby, where his dad stood waiting to pick him up. Somehow, for better or worse, he had not only escaped being knocked back down to a level 2, but still kept even the privileges of a level 3, including a day visit back home to his family. Just seeing his dad again for the first time in nearly 2 months almost, almost made it worth it.

Dad smelled like his cologne, the one with the cow skull on the bottle, and fresh laundry. And the harsh, yellow soap he used to scrub away all the grease and muck from the factory’s machine shop. He only ever smelled like this on Sundays, though even then, he was rarely dressed so nice. Pressed striped shirts and dress jeans were for weddings, funerals, and birthday parties. Eric supposed he wanted to make a good impression, since before the staff had only ever seen him cleaned up to the bare minimum needed to be presentable in a hospital setting. Dad had always been like that, proud but not ostentatious. Shit, he was only 35, and had to work hard to overcome his small-town high school reputation.

Eric let himself sink into his dad’s arms, wishing for a heartbeat that he was still small enough for Mitchel to scoop him up onto his hip and carry him out to the car. Obviously, though, 17 was far too old for that, and they couldn't’t leave yet anyway. There was so much paperwork to fill out first.

Even at home, it seemed, the CEC needed to control everything about Eric’s life. The carrier at the front desk ran through an agonizingly long list of Do’s and Don’t’s. Do keep Eric within reach at all times while traveling. Do not leave your home with Eric until it is time to return to the center. Do not invite non-family members over while Eric is at home. Do stick to his dietary recommendations, do make sure he takes his vitamins at lunch.

Do not let Eric out of your sight.

Mitchel read each item carefully, hazel eyes flickering over to his son every so often. He squirmed under his father’s watch, as though his dad were realizing more and more just how vulnerable his youngest child was now. How weak.

This did not sit well with Eric, but he wasn’t surprised by it. His counselor had gone over this with him in their session yesterday, imploring him to not be rebellious for the sake of rebellion, and telling him horror stories of carriers who had run away from the gaze of their fathers only to turn up beaten, raped, pregnant and captive.

“And, last, Mr. McDaugh, I’m going to need your signature here, stating that you understand that attempting to leave the county with Eric or aiding his departure in any way is a felony offense, and that Nebraska has a no tolerance policy in court.”

“...yes, of course. That won’t be a problem,” he promised the intake carrier, signing his name without more than a moment’s pause.

The carrier (was his name Jamal? Jamie? Something like that) smiled as he looked over the forms one last time, and wished Eric a fun day out.

Fucking /Finally/

)o(

“Jesus, Eric, you almost look good.”

“Fuck off, Daniel,” Eric snit back, letting his older brother scoop him into a firm hug.

Daniel was only 11 months older than Eric was, and just a year ahead in school, so they had always been close. And always been near ready to kill one another over toys, food, soccer balls, dad’s attention, first dibs on the shower, food, and any other minor inconvenience they could blow up into a catastrophe. Until he left, they had always been about on par for size, too, with Daniel being only a hair taller thanks to his year’s head start. They played on the same soccer team at school, Eric could almost lift as much as Daniel, jump higher...suddenly that was very obviously at an end. It had been a hot minute since Eric had seen another boy...an actual boy...his own age to compare himself to, and the differences seemed already so striking. Daniel wore a worn button up over a faded t shirt, one he and Eric had always just tossed back and forth to each other, but it stretched taut over Daniel’s chest and shoulders, where Eric was sure it would now hang loose across his own.

‘Till you get knocked up,’ a nasty little voice in the back of his head told him, and he had to clench his teeth to avoid cringing. This wasn’t the time for that kind of shit. He got 12 hours every two weeks to be with his family, he wasn’t going to waste them in worry and panic. If he could help it.

“You need a haircut,” Daniel told him, shuffleing his bangs where they were just beginning to fall over his brows and into his eyes,

So much for holding in his cringe.

“Can’t,” he told him simply, feigning a casual shrug. “Not allowed.”

“Why the fuck not? It’s your hair.”

“Yeah, well, they think we need to start practicing, uh, ‘a more feminine demeanor that will be pleasing to our husbands.’”

Daniel looked unimpressed at this bullshit, and Eric was glad. Like most his age, they had never really spoken much about carriers; they weren’t old enough to hit the time where mortality was staring them down and making them want partners and families. Besides, Daniel had been dating the same boy since 8th grade, and they didn’t seem ready to break up to go find carrier brides any time soon.

“Fuck that, man. If Dominic ever changed, I’d want him to do whatever the fuck he wanted with his hair. It’s just /hair/, man?”

“You know,” Mitchel interrupted, slipping the folder with Eric’s meal plans quietly onto the counter and out of the way, “I think, if we’re gonna grill tonight, we better start getting the chicken marinating and chopping vegetables for kabobs.”

Bless dad, just bless him. The last thing Eric wanted today was to think about the center of his new life or his brand new uterus the whole day. It was just odd and kinda gross to think about that kind of thing around Daniel anyway.

And yet, it found more and more ways to sneak in. Daniel complimenting how quickly he can chop peppers and onions now just reminded him of his home ec classes. His dad digging out a workout band to sweep his son’s hair out of his eyes, Eric not being able to haul the bag of charcoal out of the garage, Daniel asking what the red marks on his hips were when his shirt rode up. All of it was just...too awkward.

“Hey, Er, come on, we got plenty of time before dinner, come outside and kick around with me?” Daniel offered, indicating the makeshift field their dad had made of their backyard 2 years ago, welding together a net from scrap metal from the shop.

Eric, of course, was eager to agree, but anxiety lined Mitchel’s face, deepening his premature wrinkles.

“I dunno, guys, they were pretty adamant about Eric staying home,” he said cautiously, eyeing the window to the back yard as though it were a mine field.

“Oh come on dad, they just meant I can’t, like, go into town and run around or anything!” Eric explained, ignoring Daniel’s shocked look. “I can go into my own backyard!”

“It’s not like we have near neighbors, dad,” Daniel pointed out, and it was true. They had an old man and his older father on one side, and a small cluster of commercial storage units on the other, and that was an acre away, behind two fences.

Mitchel looked between his sons, his boy and his carrier, then back out the window again, and sighed.

“Alright, but hold on, I’m going out with you,” he insisted, and disappeared down their little wood paneled hall. Within a minute, he reappeared, and tucked very obviously and prominently into the waistband of his jeans, easy to see and easy to reach, was his handgun.

)o(

“You’re sunburned!” Dove squealed when Eric came home after dinner that night, accusation mingling with obvious jealousy. 

“Yeah, we spent most of the day in the back yard playing soccer,” Eric gushed, still on a high from the fresh air, exercise and time away from Stillwater.

“Luckyyy!” Dove whined, poking one of Eric’s pink cheeks. “I don’t tan at all, I burn unless I’m painted in, like, SPF 80!”

“He tried self tanning once, right after I got here in November?” Owen started from his usual place on Dove’s bed (Eric was sure he had his own room, but he was never IN IT) “And he turned fucking carrot orange!”

“The tube said fair to light, Owen, I’m fair to light! It should have worked!”

“Obviously ‘fresh corpse’ isn’t among their recommended skin tones.”

Eric chuckled, dipping out of Dove’s way as he chucked a pillow at his best friend’s face.

“Hey, watch it, I’m carrying precious cargo over here!” he snorted, ducking out of the way.

“I hope your baby looks like a potato!”

“If Taylor’s video is anything to go by don’t all babies look like potatoes?” Eric wanted to know, trying to not gag at the memory of That Class. All that screaming and agony and bodily secretions just to end up with some red, wailing creature that looked ready to serve alongside gravy?!

“My baby is going to be beautiful, shut your mouths!”

Leaning close, Dove held up a hand and said, in a loud stage whisper, “I’ve seen both possible dads. Owen better have some titanium genes if he wants a decent looking kid- hey!”

Unlike Owen, Dove wasn’t very good at ducking.

)o(

Eric was having a good week. He got his monthly report which, instead of doling out letter grades, simply marked his progression as adequate or needs improvement, and he’d gotten an adequate in every class. He supposed perhaps he should be trying harder to fuck shit up, but honestly there wasn’t a whole lot else to do around here besides study, and he didn’t want to see his dad’s disappointed and worried face should he fail.

His 2 extra hours of rec time were spent with Owen, Dove, and Perry, the former teaching the younger boys to play volleyball. They used a large, colorful, inflatable beach ball, ostensibly to be easier for the younger carriers to follow and keep up, but Eric had the suspicion that Owen was being cautious, what with his. Situation.

He’d been having such an unusually good week, in fact, that Eric had almost forgotten what the primary purpose of being a level 3 was. 

“Oh this is always so exciting!” Taylor gushed, handing Eric several manilla folders across the table, each one marked with a printed out name. “Now, everyone who applies for a bride is screened, Eric, so don’t worry, ok? Nobody who has any assault charges or rape charges, nobody with drug problems, they have to make at least $75,000 a year and have 5 years of consistent employment. Most are military men, some are in government-”

“Same thing,” Eric snorted, staring blankly at the envelopes in front of him. None of Taylor’s words were very comforting. From what he knew, the governments idea of what qualified as rape or assault were questionable when it came to young, pretty carriers. “Do I-”

“You don’t have to pick anyone here, no,” Taylor guessed his question, waving his hands comfortingly, several jewel toned bangles rattling on his wrists. “We have dozens of guys in the system, plenty to choose from, but these are just some that we feel might be a good match for you.”

“What makes you think a guy would be a good match for me?” Eric wanted to know, still more than a little skeptical.

“Well, you’re athletic, so guys who prefer being outside rather than stuffed in the office all day. And we try to look for younger men for you boys-”

“So like my dad’s age rather than, what, sixty?”

Taylor laughed, and god damn it, Eric liked his laugh. 

“Well let’s just say there aren’t many 20 year olds who can fit our standards!” he said, rubbing his belly.

Eric stared at the curve beneath the older carrie’s turquoise blouse.

“...is this how you met your husband?”

Taylor nodded eagerly, continuing to keep his hand over his baby bump.

“Yup, same way. Air force staff Sergeant Kim Park. he was really awkward at first, hadn’t dated too many carriers before, but he’s really sweet, and a good dad.”

“And you picked him from a pile like this, that ‘they’ selected for you?”

“Yup!”

“And did they pick him for you just cause he’s Korean too?”

For once, for fucking once, Eric actually saw Taylors face hit a true sour note, his painted lips twisted just a bit.

“...honestly? Probably. And I can’t say that’s their most...forward thinking decision. But I mean, it worked out. We had a lot in common, and we wanna take the kids back to Korea some day, now that it’s joined the Union allies.”

Eric wondered what life was like for their kind in Korea, whether Taylor would be happy there, but he had little room in his brain to spare for his dorm leader right now, what with five envelopes holding a slice of his potential future.

“If it sweetens the pot, Eric, guys are also added in if they’ve already shown an interest in you!”

No, that did not sweeten the pot. In fact, it made Eric very very unsweet, to think about a file in the office, with his picture, with his age, his weight, his health and blood type, listing him off like a piece of meat at auction.

)o(

“Oh, he’s CUTE,” Dovine gushed, tapping a sloppily painted fingernail over the first file Eric opened. Staff Sergeant Miller was, indeed, handsome, with auburn hair and green eyes.

“Oh, he makes 85 a year, not too bad. Went to an Ivy League!”

“Of course that’s a turn on for YOU,” Owen teased, opening another folder. “Oh, I dated him, don’t do it, he wanted up my skirt the first date.”

“And did you LET him up your skirt?” Eric wanted to know, having started to learn that Owen was a bit of the dorm slut.

“Ugh, ew, no, look at that nose! My kids would look like pelicans!”

“Then why did you date him?”

“Because HE makes 122 a year!”

Eric groaned, so done with Owen right now, and grabbed a cookie from the stash sat between the three on his bed. They were, of course, strictly forbidden, too much sugar not good for their immune systems or waistlines, but Owen managed to get in a lot of shit they shouldn’t have from his boyfriends. Apparently there were advantages to being the dorm slut.

“Ok, you ever fuck, let’s see, Brendan Stutzman?” he asked, waving the file around for any takers.

Both boys scowled.

“No, but my old roommate did. He’s gross, he’s almost 60, see?” Dove pointed to the info beside his enlistment photograph, and grimaced. Yeah, he was fifty-fucking-nine and looked it. 

“Dude, he already has 3 living kids!” Eric said, tapping the page, and Owen nodded sympathetically.

“Yeah, anyone over 40 or so, you gotta watch out for. Especially being as young as you are, you don’t want step kids older than you, right?”

“...the youngest guy here is 33. My dad’s only two years older than that!” With a flop, Eric hit the mattress backwards, letting the photographs slip from his hand. “I can’t go out with any of these guys! The oldest guy I ever went with was 19, and my dad nearly had an aneurysm over that, and that was BEFORE I could get knocked up!”

“Yeah, my dad had a shit storm when he found out how old most of my dates were,” Owen nodded, grabbing a cookie for himself and twisting it open to lick the middle. “But Taylor’s right, it’s super rare to find someone your age. Unless you’re someone like Miguel, it ain’t gonna happen.”

“That’s the guy in the next dorm, right? The one who turned 36 the other day?”

“Yup. He got here just a week or so before you, Eric, and they want him married by June.”

“A June bride, how romantic,” Eric gagged. Dove agreed, distractedly flipping through the files still.

“Yeah, his clock’s ticking, you know? They really prefer us, cause we have, like, a good 20 years of breeding in us yet.”

“Yeah and what are they gonna do once the next lot starts changing at 12, 13?”

The silence in the room said everything, and not even Owen could spin that into something positive.

“Here, go out with him first,” Dovine finally changed the subject, handing back the first file, the Ivy League graduate. “He has a dog, you like dogs right? And he has a home in Montana, I bet it’s pretty there.

“It’s just Prairie North, Dovine. I thought I didn’t have to pick any of these guys?”

“Well, you don’t,” he said carefully, snatching the last cookie away from a very offended Owen, who squawked something about him stealing from a fucking fetus. “But I’m gonna be straight with you, Er, it’s probably not gonna get too much better than this, and you can’t tell so much just from these forms. Some of the hot one's are nasty ass pricks, some of the lumps will worship the ground you walk on.”

“So long as you behave,” Owen put in.

“And submit,” Dovine reluctantly agreed.

“And spread your legs?” Eric guessed, and the other two nodded solemnly. 

)o(

On May 12th, just over 9 weeks since his first day at the center, Eric McDaugh went on his first date. 

Well, technically his first date had been with Jordan Price in 9th grade. They played basketball behind the school, then shared a massive plate of fries at a diner where the name had chipped off the wall sometime around the plague. Eric gave Jordan a vintage keychain game that still blinked and made noise. Jordan gave him mono. All in all it was an ok first date. 

But this was different. This was Eric’s first date as a carrier, as an adult, and to be honest he wanted to puke.

In the days leading up to it he gave every excuse not to go. He felt sick (“then go to the infirmary.”) He was on his period (“Take an extra pad.”) He had a lot of homework to catch up on (“this IS our homework”) till finally he’d run out of excuses.

Thus was how he found himself once again at the mercy of his room mate and company, determined to make him look passable. The pair loved to coo that Eric was adorable anyway, but it was fun to play around.

Well. Maybe it could be. Eric had messed around with some eyeliner and blush like most boys his age, much to the confusion of fathers who had grown up in a far different world, but he’d never sat down to a spread like Dovine had. Mascara and eyeshadow (cream, powder AND baked), bronzer, highlighter, more tubes of lipstick than he thought they still made-!

“Like I said, Eric, my dates are...judgy. They see my picture and think I look like a fairy, then I get there and it’s all bloodshot eyes and pink skin and suddenly I just look sick to them.

Eric thought Dove’s translucent skin and watery eyes were beautiful, but that didn’t seem to be the point right now, not with Dove concentrating so hard on not poking Eric’s eye out with a brown pencil. He kept fidgeting with the hem of a skirt he didn’t want to wear but that Owen leant him and insisted looked good.

“It’s the perfect length on you. Flirty without advertising too much!” he swore, though Eric wasn’t sure what gave that impression. God, he felt sick, he wasn’t even lying this time!

“It’s just a date, Eric, ok?” Dove promised, feathering a little more blush near Eric’s hairline. “You don’t even leave campus the first date. He’s gonna show up, you’re gonna have dinner with him and a chaperone in a private room, door open. If you like him, you can walk around the track outside and talk. If you don’t, you can send him on his way after dessert.”

“And if you REALLY like him you can bribe your chaperone to turn away!” Owen reminded him, and Dove looked ready to hit him if it wasn't for the baby.

“Jesus fuck Owen, control your hormones,” he sighed. Holding Eric at arm’s length, he smiled, handed him a tube of clear lipgloss to reapply after dinner, and pronounced him absolutely fetching.

Whatever the fuck that meant.


	11. Negotiation Tactics

Sergeant Kyle Miller was cute, Eric couldn't deny that no matter how much he did not want to be here. With blushy cheeks and a copper tone to his hair, there was obviously a heavy dose of Irish in him. He was 33, minored in music, played piano and viola, had a weimaraner named Cantaloupe.

He was...fine. He was fine.

When Eric walked in, unsteady from nerves and a strong desire to puke, Kyle had stood up to meet him with a firm, enthusiastic handshake, which Eric returned with nerves and a clammy palm.

"Wonderful to meet you, Eric. You...you look really nice, just as pretty as your picture."

Considering Eric had been crying for a solid hour before that photo had been taken, he had to wonder how much airbrushing had been done to achieve any level of pretty.

"...uh, thanks, thank you." God damn social propriety. All Eric wanted was to be an aloof and snotty little bitch here, but it was hard to concentrate over the pounding of his heart. 

Eager to show he was a gentleman, Kyle pulled out Eric's chair for him, as though they were in a fancy French cafe and not a tucked away room of the CEC. Obviously dates was what this room had been prepared for. The walls were a warm caramel, and in lieu of overhead panel lighting, the room was lit by a dome light, the kind nicer houses had in their living rooms. A single table was set for two; apparently the guard at the door wasn't expected to join them in their dinner of lasagna and slightly wilted Caesar salad. 

It was hardly romantic, but the room didn't look like it belonged in a hollowed out department store either so that was an A for effort. There was even a small bottle of sparkling cider, a nice touch.

"So, Eric! How do you like the CEC?"

God it was more awkward than meeting his uncle Brian at his eighth grade graduation.

"...its fine. "

"Yeah?"

"Yeah…" ok obviously Kyle was waiting for more. Very slow and deliberate, Eric cut a tiny square of his lasagna, chewing carefully. "I mean. I'd rather be at my old school."

Kyle nodded sympathetically, because it was the expected reaction. Having already dated a couple other carriers around the school, surely he knew the song and dance by now.

"But the teachers are ok. I like my room mate….so uh. What do you do. In the uh. Army?"

Kyle gave a quick and tidy summary of his job working weapons deconstruction, tearing apart pre war tanks and landmines and shit, trying to regain the technology wiped out from all the files and hard drives and shit lost during the war. It sounded a bit like what Dove said he'd been studying in school, and Eric thought for a moment of a future on another world, where Dovine graduated with his doctorate like he'd wanted, and he and Sergeant Miller here might have been partners, working on the same projects, going out for drinks as buddies rather than as a bullshit facsimile of outdated courtship.

...it was fine.

The whole evening, all that Eric has gotten so worked up about, lasted all of 45 minutes from the time Eric had walked into the room till he and the guard escorted Kyle to the double doors to the lobby. A handshake, a smile, a "I had a nice time".

Maybe in another life, this could have been normal. A real date ending on a front porch, a stolen kiss in place of clasped hands. Kyle gave him his phone number. Eric felt very little about it, and when the doors closed between them, Eric couldn't help but feel almost a little cheated.

But it was fine. It went just fine.

)o(

"Hey dad!"

"Hey baby boy, how's my Eric?"

"I'm ok Dad. I stole Dove away all afternoon, since were both level three? Since he's teaching me volleyball, I'm teaching him soccer. He's terrible at it, it's great!"

His dad's laugh over the phone was light and rumbly, and helped ease just a moment of Eric's home sickness.

"You're so mean to your friends, Eric!"

"Hey, you shoulda seen Owen dragging his ass from the sidelines, Dad! He was pissy he couldn't play so he took his frustration out on Dove."

"How come you wouldn't let him play, you jerk?" Dad wanted to know, and Eric was quiet.

Well, it's its not like it was a secret anymore. 3 nights ago, Owen lost his battle of wits against the doctors, no longer believing his insistence that his lack of period was just normal new carrier problems. He's been dragged out of bed at midnight and made to pee in a cup. Test came back positive, and Owen got to spend the next eight hours bouncing between his physician, his shrink, dietician, and finally Taylor, who was bawling from a mix of emotion and his own hormones.

When he'd finally been released from their clutches he took up nest in Dove and Eric’s room, tossing down an armload of pamphlets and books on pregnancy, one so old it still had a woman on the cover.

"Test results back in a week," was all he had said, crawling under the covers. "Then we can start planning my wedding."

Eric twisted the phone cord in his lap, digging for the words. Three months at Stillwater and it hasn't grown any easier to talk about the actual reasons he was there.

"Uh...Owens gonna get married soon, dad."

"...oh. He um, doesn't wanna get bruised up for the wedding?"

He tugged the phone cord hard enough he worried he might pull it from the receiver. Hell, he hoped it would. 

"No, dad, they're worried too much running around won't be good for the baby."

Silence from the other end of the phone, so profound that Eric was sure his dad has stopped breathing. 

"Oh...he, uh...he doing...ok hon?"

"He wanted this, dad, he's ok," Eric assured him, hoping he could convince his dad. Not an easy situation, since he was still trying to convince himself. 

)o(

Sergeant Miller apparently thought their date went fine as well, because he requested a second date just a week later.

"You gonna go?" Dove asked, layering on another coat of mascara to his nearly translucent lashes, getting ready for a night out of his own. ("Fourth date with Beau, he's alright. We get to leave and actually go somewhere. With a chaperone, but still.")

"Dunno," Eric sighed, looking at the letter and unwrapping a one of the chocolates that had come with it. "He's just...I’m use to dating guys my age, why can't I just date one of the guys from school?"

Owen was laid out on the floor, thumbing through a parenting magazine. "You know the rules Eric, you gotta have a stable career and make a lot of money to marry a carrier. They don't want us on the streets or unable to feed our kids, not with the future of the world riding on how well, like, 7% of the population can reproduce."

"It's still shitty."

"It's a shitty world," Owen agreed, flipping a page. "So it's Teagan, by the way."

Dove stopped, a brush halfway to his face.

"Oh...you ok with that?"

Owen shrugged best as he could from the floor.

"Yeah, I am. I chose to fuck him, not like he raped me or anything. He's rich, he doesn't seem like he’ll beat me too often, and he's gonna pay for my little brother to go to school. Wants to get a dog...honestly I couldn't hope for better."

Eric was quiet, and leaned down to pick up one of Owen’s magazines, flipping it open to an add for maternity clothes. Sporty, healthy carriers with flowing printed fabric draping over prominent bellies. Another page advised on preschool education from home; the oldest children, besides Eric's generation of still 17, were not even 4 yet. There weren't enough in most areas to start classes. He wondered if those carriers who'd has those first children, had to sew their clothes for them, had to search these outdated books for what to do, beg their fathers for half forgotten information or forgotten toys left in basements. 

It was fucking surreal, and Eric had a fleeting moment of hard realization, that this was his future. Sooner than later, he's be needing clothes to fit a changing body, he'd be looking for cradles and diapers and teething rings. Stomach clenched, he tried to conjure up Kyle's face as the man at his side, tried to imagine holding a newborn baby with a shock of red hair, and he wanted to puke. Not because anything was especially wrong with Kyle, it's just that he didn't know him, and wasn't sure he wanted to know him.

"...hey Dove? How do I ask for another pack of envelopes to look through?"

In the mirror, Dove caught his eye, and gave Eric a look that was both pitying, and understanding. 

)o(

The next night Eric got ready for a date alone, both of his closest friends out on their own romantic excursions. Officer Teagan was absolutely over the moon about Owens pregnancy and couldn't stand to be away from him longer than 2 days at a time. Eric had finally caught sight of him. Not hideous but not terribly handsome. 47, fit, graying hair, good smile. Scooped Owen up like he hasn't seen him in months. Owen seemed to like the attention, the hugs, the hands on his belly.

Well, good for him, then.

Eric's own date was honestly about the same age, and immediately upon seeing him Eric felt like he’d made a grave mistake. He was polite and formal, they shared a nice enough dinner (chicken in some kind of tomato sauce, soft rolls, cheese over broccoli). He was very up front about his expectations. He wanted to start having children right away, hoped for 3 or 4, or more, god willing. He made more than enough money to keep Eric comfortable, and he could take homemaking or art classes to keep him entertained. 

How...generous, Eric thought, axing this guy by dessert.

The next morning he told Taylor to go ahead and schedule a second date with Miller.

)o(

Summer in Nebraska came early. By mid May, they had all tucked their sweats away. Till winter, they all said, knowing very very few of them would be around by then to wear CEC labeled sweatpants. Outside, the weather turned almost hot by mid-day, windows open to let in the south prairie winds, sweet from wildflowers and weeds. The fields were green and rich, holding a fertility that could only have been hoped for during the war...and honestly the same could be said within the walls of Stillwater too.

In all, there were 3 pregnant carriers milling about. Taylor was six months gone and starting to develop an odd sort of sway when he walked. Eric wondered mildly where he managed to find pink and black maternity tops, but by now, he would expect nothing else of his dorm leader, and only wondered what his outfits looked like under a black light.

A new boy had shown up a few weeks ago, already knocked up. He was 25 or 26, spoke rapid Spanish under his breath, and was funny as shit. Somehow, he’d been hiding his change since it God damned happened.

‘I was all done by the time anyone in the news was talking about it,” he told the common room one night, once he’d been accepted as a part of the group. “I was already grown and out of the house, lived alone. Nobody was close enough to notice, and I switched jobs afterwards, so nobody on the construction sites would notice I couldn’t haul bricks like I use to.”

“And you hid it for 4 years?” Perry asked breathlessly, envy just dripping from his voice.

The boy, Tomas, just shrugged, taking all this in stride.

“Yeah, pretty much. Couple friends found out, but I trusted them. And my brother. And my boyfriend now, obviously.”

Tomas worked the system just like Owen did. He got himself pregnant by who he loved, before anyone could take him away and send him to a CEC in, like, Texas or some shit. They wouldn’t separate a couple like that. Not so long as the dad had himself a cushy office job.

Eric wondered how else that could have gone, if his boyfriend had just been a brick later or something. He decided he didn’t want to know.

And, of course, there was Owen, getting towards month 4. No longer puking every meal or crying in the middle of lessons for literally no reason, he had the time and energy to focus on the slapdash affair they had the gall to call a wedding. The date room would be filled with folding chairs, Owen could pick the colors of the flowers and placemats, and could request a chaperone to go with his dad and another carrier to buy a suit (permitted) or a dress (prefered). With his belly just starting to go convex, he wanted this to hurry up and happen, so his wedding was planned for June 3rd.

He’d wanted June first, but Miguel already had his own wedding scheduled for that day. Which was strange, since Eric was pretty sure he’d seen Miguel go out with that guy exactly twice.

Tick tock.

)o(

“Hey, Eric! It’s so good to see you again, you look pretty!”

Eric plastered a faint smile onto his lips, shaking Kyle’s hand again. At least this time he wasn’t sweating nearly as much.

“You look nice, too.” and it wasn’t a lie. Kyle wore his uniform that night, crisp emerald green and gold, and what could Eric say? He’d grown up in a society where soldiers taught his classes, where most movies involved the Union’s military strength. All his boyhood crushes had revolved around such things, and Kyle was cute. Up close, Eric noticed a face full of freckles, and again he had a fleeting, unsettling image of a small, chubby toddler with copper spots all over his face.

Over dinner, Kyle told him about his own brothers, and his dog. Eric cared a lot more to hear about the dog. Cantaloupe was 3, a rescue, and a dumbass. He’d love for Eric to meet him sometime. Eric wondered if this was a pattern among men, tempting in wives with cute animals.

Well, there were worse negotiation tactics, he supposed.

Kyle wanted 2 or 3 kids, which seemed a lowball estimate, considering Eric had been taught very plainly that Carrier’s were expected to “use the most of their fertile years.” Kyle had family throughout the midwest but wanted to travel. Eric said he’d always wanted to go south, to the ocean, see the water.

Kyle promised he could make that happen, easily, for their honeymoon.

Eric nodded noncommittally, thinking about Tomas, blessed with a choice he could only dream of, and of Miguel, who might not even know his own future last name. He thought of Owen and Dove fighting over whether or not Owen ought to wear white to his wedding, and the baby growing in his belly. Of Kyle sitting there, bright eyes and an eager smile, seeing in Eric...what? Potential love? Someone to take out his frustrations on after work? A mother to his future children, an easy fuck?

Ducking his head down, blushing and wanting to cry at the same time, he just said, “maybe,” and thought about the four unopened envelopes of potential men lying on his desk in his room, four possible futures.

Once upon a time, he’d had so, so many more.


	12. White

Owen was getting married June third, and as the date drew closer, the mood between the three carriers grew more erratic, more somber.

"It's not like I'm leaving forever," Owen tried to sooth his pseudo room mates; his own had finally wed the fiance he couldn't keep off the phone with, leaving Owen rather lonely at night. "I'll be gone for a week for a honeymoon, but I'll be back during the days after that. Teagan and I are gonna live, like, a block away from Jameson, I'll be in walking distance."

"Owen you're starting to waddle just getting to the bathroom, let alone walking to the center," Dove pointed out, and Owen stuck out his tongue as he rubbed a hand over his stomach. 

"Not my fault I get leg cramps, Dovine! Maybe after I'm married I'll just come visit Eric and you can just sit alone and jealous!"

"And you will still visit?" Asked Eric with no small amount of pain in his voice. Honestly he expected a wedding ring to just zap a carrier away from the rest of his kind, locking him inside a house with his husband. But Owen seemed as unruffled as ever.

"Teagan says he wants me to keep friends here, says it's good for me, and good for the baby to have lots of aunts to help look after him."

"...uncles?" Eric suggested, but Dove wrinkled his nose, reminding the youngest carrier among them that calling themselves uncle's might upset the fragile egos of the "real" men around them.

Dicks.

"Besides, look at Dominic, and Cole. They still come hang out every weekend. And look at Taylor!"

Finally dove cracked a smile. "I do look at Taylor, every fucking baby class. He takes up half the room."

Eric snickered while Owen chucked a magazine Dove’s way. It was rude, but true. Between his rounding belly and his eccentric color pallette, when Taylor Park entered a room, you knew it.

"Fine. But if you don't come see us, Eric and I are gonna hunt your ass down and drag you back, bitch."

Owen just shook his head, squatting down a bit awkeardly to pick up his magazine; he wasn't especially large for 17 weeks, but just enough for his center of gravity to start shifting. 

"So, you ready then Eric? Got an outfit for my wedding? My present? A date?"

A pretzel halfway past his lips, Eric choked, shooting a disgusted look towards Owen.

"Wait, what? Since when do I have to bring a date?"

"Well you don't have to, right Owen? It's just an option. Weddings are prime social time for carriers -"

"So say men with balls."

"And the whole show is terribly romantic."

Considering the dripping level of sarcasm, Eric could surmise that, one, Dovine had been to a wedding or two during his time at the CEC and two, they had sucked. Considering the venue and the, uh, societal pressure towards marriage, this didn't surprise him.

"Yeah, no thanks, I'll go stag."

"Come on, don't want to invite Kyle?" Owen teased, and Eric shook his head fervently, wisps of blonde hair just getting long enough to whip into his eyes.

"We've been on exactly three dates," he argued, silently letting his gaze fall to the still unopened envelopes of 4 more men who had expressed interest in dating Eric, or at least A carrier. "Seems...rushed."

"Pf, maybe to sane people, not to the Center. Just consider this, Eric. Bringing a date to Owens wedding might get Jameson off your back for a while."

Ugh. His name made Eric feel queasy; he had not forgotten the night he took a yardstick to his backside. In all honesty he didn't want to forget. That burning little coal of hatred and disbelieve was so, so much better to hang on to than the icy coils of resignation. To get him a few steps back, to act like the nice, demure carrier taking courtship super duper serious, could make for a good start to summer…

But taking Kyle to a wedding sounded...daring? Dangerous. If indeed three dates was plenty, than maybe a fourth date at a wedding would be entirely too forward. Already Kyle was suggesting places for a honeymoon, talking about getting a second dog together when their first baby was older, meeting Eric's dad...perhaps, in perspective, this wasn't so strange. It's not like he was delusional and acting as though he and Eric were already engaged. No, rather, it was like he had already worked out how a CEC courtship worked, and saw no reason to pretend that marriage and motherhood wasn't the predetermined future for every carrier here. Kyle, Eric told himself judicially, was realistic and goal oriented, good qualities in a husband and father. Huh. Taylor should give him extra credit for positive thinking. 

What a bunch of crock. No amount of uptalk was gonna want to make him invite Kyle Miller to his best friends wedding! It was too quick, too intimate! He's only been a carrier for 3 and a half months! He had plenty of weeks left before crunch time, didn't he?

"Naw, Owen, sorry. But hey, make sure you toss me the bouquet, right?"

With a devilish grin, Owen turned back towards them, gushing how he wished he could,but he'd already promised it to dear Dove.

"Aw, Dove, you and Beau plan a date yet?" Eric said wryly, and though Dove smiled back it was reserved.

"...shit. did you ?!"

"No, no, nothing like that," Dove insisted quickly, and busier himself on his bed by brushing his hands through his shoulder length hair. "But I've been here almost 9 months Eric, I gonna start getting serious...you too, Eric. 8 months is going to fly by, kid."

Eric nodded his head, sighing to himself. Four more men in four sealed envelopes…

)o(

Owens little brother was nice. And jarring. And kind. And jarring. A year older than Eric, almost his brothers age, River looked like he should be the one dealing the changes of carrierhood. Slim, with a soft jaw and the same blonde hair and deep skin as Owen, he wore an easy smile and oft blushing cheeks. Seriously, had it not been for his older brothers obvious pregnancy, it would be too easy to guess that River was the carrier planning a wedding. 

"Wait till you see the dress we bought him!" River gushed to them when they came back from a shopping trip one Sunday. Owen, Teagan, Owens family, and a CEC chaperone, what a fucking caravan.

"It's cute, you're gonna love it," Owen agreed with a breathless grin. Obviously being with his brother was doing wonders for his well being. They haven't gotten to spend this much time together since Owen started to change. And yes, sure, it felt weird being in his dorm room with the door open and a nearly 7 foot tall chaperone glowering around, But it was necessary. Femme and pretty or not, River was still a man, and still a danger to the little carriers.

Eric wondered at what point along this twisted yellow brick road he had grown use to the watchful eyes of their guards. He even liked this one; Josh flipped Jameson off behind his back once. He was a good enough guy. Too bad /he/ wasn't a marriage option. 

Owen slipped into his dress as quickly as he could slip into anything, and stood expectantly once he allowed the room to look.

He WAS pretty in it, of course he was. White and tea length, his dress was simple, it's high waist and gauzy skirt making it look almost Greek. Forgoing a veil, he would pull his hair back into a white headband, tuck a couple lilacs (his chosen flower) behind his ear.

Owen looked like a glowing bride, but that was just the problem. It might not have the ball gown skirt or bling of old gowns, but it was still very obviously a wedding dress draping over his very obviously pregnant belly. Sidelong he looked over to Dove, to gauge his response against his friends, but rather than disgust on Dovines face, or a teasing from there was something akin to envy.

"You look so pretty, Owen!" River gushed, a twinge of jealousy evident in his own voice too as he fawned over his older brother in his wedding dress. "I hope I find s guy who'll let me wear a dress to my wedding!"

"You're a man, River, not a carrier, you can do whatever you want and dump any asshole who says otherwise, " Owen reminded him sternly, letting River fuss over his feathery hair.

1 week till the wedding. Oh joy.

)o(

A day before Owens wedding and Eric felt sick. It may have been nerves, it may have been excitement, may have been cause he started his period, may be all three. Point was he poked at his breakfast and ate so pitifully, after barely touching dinner the night before, that he spent his morning in the infirmary with Dr. Kessler putting him through his paces and Jameson, of course, close behind.

“Alright, Eric, you haven’t had two marks on your meal sheet since you got your feeding tube out, want to tell me what’s wrong?” Kessler asked mildly. He wasn’t the best doctor that tended to the carriers, that honor went to Dr. French, who traveled, but he wasn’t the worst either. 

Eric shrugged, uncomfortable being back in a gown, weighed and poked, especially with Jameson so close by, watching like a famished wolf. Beneath his short gown, Eric kept his legs pressed tightly together.

“I’m ok, I’m just...my stomach hurts, I’m not hungry is all,” Eric sighed, hoping Kessler didn’t flip through his file to take out that eating disorder questionnaire again. He’d gone over that time and time again with his shrink, damnit.

“Uh huh, well, that’s still two meals skipped, Eric. You don’t have any fever or signs of infection; how's your anxiety?”

Tempted to say, “I’m a breeding mare waiting for his turn how do you THINK my anxiety is?” Eric thought better of it and shrugged again, rubbing one socked foot against the other.

“Just. Miss my dad, I guess. And I should be getting ready to- I mean, I would have been graduating next week, I guess I kinda miss that.” Evade, don’t talk about weddings or babies. They would only get him more closely monitored, make them want to marry him off quicker, right?

Jameson made a pitying noise, a cluck of his tongue. “Carrier McDaugh, I’m sure passing that milestone is hard for you,” he said with fake sympathy piled on thicker than Owen had been piling his plates lately, “But you know you have a better future here with us now don’t you? You’re never going to have to worry about a single bill or rent payment or car breaking down, you don’t have to worry about any of that nonsense, surely that has to be a load off your mind at your age?”

Eric kept his mouth into as neutral of a line as possible, willing his stomach to stay down as it gurgled audibly. Not. Helping. His. Stress.

Kessler made a couple notes on Eric’s ever-growing chart (would he show this to his future husband?) and asked, “How about a shake?”

“...I’ll try, sure.” The thick, sludgy, calorie filled drink was better than a tube up the nose again.

“So, your friend is getting married tomorrow, is he? That’s exciting,” Kessler remarked as he handed Eric the vanilla slop in a plastic cup, little marks along the side to measure.

“Yeah...yeah, Owen’s excited. Gonna...they’re going up north for their honeymoon, I guess? Introduce Owen to, uh. To Teagan's brother. And his son…”

Jesus Christ.

“Your first wedding here, hm? You bringing a plus one?” Jameson asked and Eric nearly gagged on his shake. Slowly he lowered the cups from his lips just enough to answer,

“No, sir, not my bachelor ass.”

“Now that won’t do, McDaugh, not with you in this state,” the officer insisted amd oh, sweet Gods above, Eric didn't like where this was heading. “You should have a companion with you, to make sure you’re eating and holding up alright.”

“There will be plenty of men, Sir. Owen’s family, Taylor’s husband, Taegan, of course, and chaperones-”

“No, no, not good enough. If you don’t have someone with you, I’m afraid I’ll need to suggest you don’t attend the ceremony.”

Eric was three muscle twinges away from chucking the half full cup right at Jamesons scumbag face.

“But...but you can’t do that! I’m fine, I’ve just got some...some anxiety, is all, I’m fine!”

Jamesons eyes sparkled, obviously very tickled by the way Eric was reacting and the sheer control he held over the carrier.

“I can, Carrier, and I will. If this wedding is causing you distress and you’re unable to eat from it, we can’t have you in a fit or passing out. So, since you’re without your own date, and you’re so set to attend, I will be your escort. It’s been a while since I had a chance to dust off my mess blues,” he added conversationally to Kessler, who obviously couldn’t care less.

Shit. SHIT. No, that was the opposite of what Eric needed right now, and he struggled to not vomit on his gown; that surely WOULD have him barred from the ceremony.

“Um...well, what I meant was, I didn't know if I had a date for sure or not,” he stammered, clutching on both his cup and his falling straws.

“Oh?” Jameson lifted a dark eyebrow, quite amused. “Is Sergeant Miller going to be attending, then?”

“No!” Eric stammered quickly, still having that knee-jerk reflex to the idea of his three times date getting the wrong idea at a wedding. “I uh...I have another guy. But it’s short notice, he doesn't know if he can...can make it.”

“Who is it?”

“I don't’ remember his name,” Eric spat defensively. “All you officers look the same anyway!”

“Alright, Eric, calm down, finish your drink. As upset as you’re getting, all worked up, maybe you ought to have a nap after you’re done.”

Jesus Christ now he was being patronized. He didn’t need a nap, damnit, he needed a fucking knife to plunge into Jameson’s throat!”

“Is that so. Well, Carrier McDaugh, I’ll be looking forward to meeting your date, then. Just remember, the scheduling closes at 5, so if he doesn’t get back to us by then, I’ll be very much looking forward to having you on my arm tomorrow. Now drink up, you’re looking pale.”

Eric McDaugh, 17, carrier, was pretty sure he had never been quite so royally fucked.

)o(

Eric tore into his bedroom like a twister, slipping on a few t shirts he had every intention of washing and putting away, and nearly upending his little desk to get to the half buried envelopes. Four of them, thick, still manilla things, tied with string around flat pegs. Each had his name on the outside, and the name of a stranger. THe letters didn’t make any sense, his heart pounding too hard to concentrate on reading them, so he just grabbed the one with a star by his name. He guessed that a guy who asked for him directly would be more apt to show up to a fucking wedding for strangers last minute. It would be fine. Unwinding the string he told himself it would be FINE, even if he was fucking fifty. Didn’t matter, he was halfway to the door again when he slid the top papers from the folder, and nearly smashed into the wall.

Front page of these files always held a photo, a quarter page big, full color, and Eric recognized the man immediately.

“Bunhead?!”

Indeed, Bunhead. Well, more, accurately, Kharis Page. Or, even more accurately, Major General Kharis L. Page, 2 silver stars gleaming against his navy uniform. His photo was severe as any military portrait, hair pulled into his tight bun. Full lips, brown skin, nearly black eyes, definitely him.

What the fuck was a 2 star general doing at their CEC? Wait, no, what the fuck was a 2 star general doing asking to date Eric?

 

Distressed noises and whining filled the room, as Eric looked from this page, to the other envelopes waiting on the bed, to the number taped to his wall, Miller’s number…

...yeah, no, fuck it, it was almost noon by now, meaning he had five hours to submit a request, have it go through, pray that Bunhead- no, Major General Kharis L. Page received it in time, and answered yes. Otherwise, his life was going to fucking end tomorrow because Eric did not trust Jameson to keep his god damned hands to his god damned self.


	13. Nebraska Skies

Owens wedding was to be held at 11am, a quick thing, shouldn't be more than twenty minutes, and after the CEC and scattering of guests would settle down for a lunch, catered from a nice restaurant in town that Eric are at once, to celebrate his first day of senior year. After that there would be drinks for everyone but the bride and Taylor, some chit chat, some photos, and then by 2, they'd be off to North Dakota or Canada or wherever.

Eric woke at 6 am in an absolute panic, and knew the following hours would be hell. In the next bed, Dove slept soundly, not planning to be up till 8 to help Owen get ready. Quietly Eric slipped out of bed, fearful even of the rustling of his bed sheets or his slippers on the rug. Not like he was doing anything bad, he was just going to go have a shower; the hot water would relax him, and besides, he was bleeding, and couldn't stand himself in the morning.

With the stall locked behind him, and the water turned on hot, Eric felt his mind clear enough to form an action plan. Bathe, eat breakfast early. Beg Perry for help doing something with his hair, slip into the suit he had borrowed from Dove. A carriers suit, since Eric had forgone the offer of a pretty dress, with a longer coat and pants cut in a looser, drapier style. Top button and tie not mandatory. Fine, he didn't even argue. Eric had to make a good impression that day.

Taylor had nearly cried when he's run up to him yesterday with a file clutched in his hand, begging the older carrier to put the request through, for tomorrow - yes, for the wedding, please, he NEEDED a date!

And lo, miracle of miracles, a reply came through at 4:21 pm, that General Page would be very pleased to escort Carrier McDaugh during the wedding, provided he be allowed to make A Day of it. No 45 minute meal like he’d had with Kyle, no meet and greet and bye had a nice time. No, if the party lasted from 10 to 2, General Page wanted to be there from 10 to 2.

Fucking great.

But still Eric didn't argue. He'd already exchanged, like, 3 sentences with this man after all, which was 3 more than before he'd met Miller, and none of them had been particularly awful like Jameson. No matter how bad it was it couldn't be a worst case scenario.

Despite his nausea, Eric ate everything on his plate, not giving the breakfast monitor any reason to flag him. Jameson was so where to be seen, which was odd, and Eric had to wonder if he was sulking at being denied his prize, or if he was getting dressed should Page take one look at Eric and nope on out.

Meanwhile, the bride seemed to have finally realized what the flying fuck was going on, because Owen looked positively gray when Eric wandered into the bathroom again after breakfast. Surrounded by carriers (River hovering at the door, not allowed in) his eyes were red rimmed, as though he were putting serious consideration into crying.

"Come on, you're ok. Colin, go get him a muffin from the kitchenette? Yeah the banana one's with my name on them- no, please Owen don't cry, this is gonna be good!"

Owen nodded, but didn't seem like he was really hearing Perry. Before him, Dove sat with his makeup spread all across the counter, testing everyone's concealer and powders to find a combination to suit Owens near-eastern complexion.

"Knew you should have bought your own...come on, Owen, shush, hush, Teagan is going to be so happy to see you in your dress, huh?"

"Fuck Teagan!"

"You already did, honey, that's why you have to wear an empire waist gown," Dove pointed out, not missing a beat. "You shouldn't be fretting so much, you're gonna upset your baby, huh?"

He didn't look like he cared much for his growing baby right now either, and his face only went pink as he fought back tears. Eric wanted to join the gaggle around him, try to talk him out of his cold feet, but there just wasn't enough of his own internal resources to go around. Instead he just gave Owen a tight smile, changed his pad in the stall, scrubbed his hands and slipped out again.

God, today was going to suck.

Back in his room, he nixed the idea of doing anything pretty with his hair, it was such an awkward length anyway, and started getting dressed instead. The long jacket brushed over his widened hips, flaring almost like a short skirt, which he was sure was the whole point of the design. It was a tad long on him, but some safety pins took care of that. Sure, Taylor had taught them a basting stitch but like fuck he had time for that? It was good enough, he looked good enough, even handsome!

God he hoped General Page liked his carriers handsome.

))((

Jameson had on mess blues, a bowtie, and the sour look of a manchild who did not get his way, and immediately Eric felt just a slice better. Being the delightful and submissive carrier Eric was, he gave his commanding officer his brightest, sweetest smile as he walked by, and with a room full of people, Jameson was impotent to retaliate.

"Eric!"

Lord, he didn't think Taylor was capable of looking decent for a wedding, but there he was, a very pregnant vision in pastels, his cornflower blue dress covered with a banana cream cardigan. Naturally, little Tori’s vest was the same sunshine hue, though he looked less delighted than his mother, and looked ready for a nap

Me too, kid.

"Eric you look wonderful in a carriers suit!" Taylor gushed, smoothing his hands over Eric's lapels, almost compulsively, then reaching up to smooth over his hair too, over and over again. Just as Eric was about to question his dorm leaders neurosis, Taylor leaned down close to whisper in his ear,

"Eric, you listen close. You have no idea how rare it is for someone of Page’s rank to be looking for a bride in a Podunk nowhere CEC, ok? And he's so fucking handsome I want to punch him. Or kiss him, I dunno-"

"Taylor -"

"Point is he's here, Eric, and I know I always tell you boys to behave and be nice but please, please Eric, mind that this time, for the love of- oh, General Page! I hope you're making yourself comfortable, may i introduce you to Eric?"

Major General Kharis Page was no mountain of a man, but he was tall, broad, and looked like he could stand up to at least an F2 tornado just by staring it down. Eric couldn't very well call him Bunhead today, as he wore his hair loose, with tight, skinny curls reaching down to the tops of his shoulders. Odd, Eric thought, since long hair wasn't very fashionable at all with officers, not since carriers became a thing and society found a gender binary to enforce again. Up close, his eyes were more intense than his photograph, black slides of glass framed by dark lashes...somehow, though, they managed to soften, as Page gave a slow, broad smile for his carrier date.

"Eric…" he tasted his short name on his tongue, "I do believe we have already met? Have you enjoyed any recent climbing expeditions, Mr. McDaugh?"

Eric, more than a little intimidated by this 6 foot five collection of medals and ribbons and gleaming stars, could only nod, and then shake his head in correction.

"N...no, sir, kept my feet on the ground where they belong."

His laugh was deep, low, but runbly, and Eric thinned his lips, unsure if he was being ridiculed.

"Good to hear, good to hear...well, thank you, Mrs. Park, for the introduction, and congratulations on the little ones, I'm sure your second will be as cute as your first."

Taylor looked ready to choke, and Eric supposed he just have been relieved when Kharis offered an elbow for Eric to slip his arm through and lead him away.

He smelled good, Eric thought, and on this stressed stage he came horrifyingly close to opening his mouth and actually SAYING THAT.

Thank the gods, Kharis saved him the humiliation.

"You look very nice, Eric, and it really is good to meet you again on less stressful grounds"

Huh, if he thought this was less stressful, he was sorely, sorely mistaken, because good god was Eric's stress level high.

"Uh, thanks, you look nice too, uh...general? Sir?"

"Kharis is fine, Eric, if you feel comfortable with that."

"It beats calling you Major General."

Kharis chuckled again, his curls bouncing as he shook his head.

"It is a mouthful," he agreed congenially. "Now, Eric, how about showing me around, introducing me to some of your friends? Since I am going to be here all afternoon."

Lord almighty Eric's heart wouldn't stop hammering, but he did as he was asked, introducing his date to Perry, to Mr. Bloom, to Owens dad, even though he'd spent approximately five minutes with each of them. Honestly it didn’t take long for Eric to feel rather like a show pony, the way he had to trot alongside his date’s long, even strides. Again, he felt a twinge of mourning, thinking how much taller, how much broader he could have grown, had his body not decided that wider hips and a uterus were more important than muscle mass and long legs.

However, it was all almost, almost worth it when the pair neared the punch and finger sandwiches and found Captain Jameson, standing alone, no carrier within five feet of him.

"Oh, uh...this is...shit," Eric muttered, hoping he could turn away and avoid this awkward mess, but Jameson had already turned towards his voice, a sleek smile on his lips at the sound of his favorite breeder.

"McDaugh, did your date forget abo...uh-! General Page, Sir."

Captain Jameson very, very obviously recognized Kharis, and was unbelievably quick to slap a subordinate mask on his face, raising his right hand in salute to his superior.

"Jameson, good to see you," Kharis said, his tone oh so mild, yet Eric could feel his body adjusting next to him, squaring his shoulders and filling his chest. 

"And you, sir, we appreciate you coming down in person to install the new security platforms, General, my men just don't have the heads for that sort of mess."

"Well considering I coded and designed that mess, I should think i would know my way around the programming and hardware Jameson,"

Jameson looked very much like he had just swallowed a bitter lemon whole, a look that Eric thought suited him quite well, and he tried to not giggle, he really did, but it just escaped past his lips. From the corner of his eye he caught Kharis turn his head to look, almost imperceptibly, and he quickly composed himself. 

"I-indeed, sir, indeed. All the same, we appreciate your work, we feel very secure with our carriers now, and hope to expand soon. Omaha is becoming overcrowded, you know, and with a nicer center, more teachers, we could attract a much larger demographic, take some of the strain off of South Bend and Milo."

"Oh, I agree. I know our changing rate is quite below the national average but everyone within fifty miles of Omaha is sending their sons there. Honestly with the fresh air out here, I'm sure we can offer a far better program for the young carriers, start offering a wider variety of classes."

"Definitely, General, I couldn't agree more. In fact, if we really want to take a look at the demographics-"

Eric began to tune the men out, their talk about population trends and migration routes and genetics going more than a little over his head, but he didn't dare wander away from his date. He kept his arm wrapped around his elbow, trying to not think of himself as the literal definition of arm candy. Well, fine if he was, he supposed. Kharis was as solid an anchor as any, and with the days events ahead, he NEEDED whatever grounding he could 

It was too soon, and finally, when Owen's father announced the start of the ceremony, and invited everyone to come inside and have a seat. All 25 or so of them.

The table and cabinets in the room had been removed and replaced by small folding chairs, some metal, some plastic with little fabric cushions. Taylor and Tomas were given first chance at these which Taylor especially took with gratitude.

Kharis lead Eric to a seat in the second row, bending down to seat his carrier first before he lowered himself, tugging the legs if his uniform trousers as he took his place. On Eric's other side was one more chair, occupied by Perry.

Music was simple, River on the clarinet playing some little melody Eric almost recognised. Teagan was already waiting by the window with the judge, dressed, like Jameson and Kharis, in military formal. 

Owen’s dad walked his carrier son up the aisle, something Eric had seen only in movies before, and always with a woman. He looked lovely, Eric couldn't deny that, but he also had this slightly puffy look, which may have been from the pregnancy but was probably from crying.

His dad gave him away. Owen held hands with Teagan, and the judge went in some short little speech about new hope after their darkest days, and how in their marriage they should remember, no matter how bad things seem, that little troubles are insignificant next to what humanity has already survived. Maybe to the men this was inspirational, but to Eric, nervous about his pad leaking through his borrowed suit, to Tomas the row back trying to control his morning sickness, to Dovine wearing a lace skirt in the front row and rubbing his very bare ring finger, t was a threat. Don't complain, don't leave, don't dream of greener pastures-

They changed rings, they are pronounced husband and wife. They kissed awkwardly over the swell of Owens baby bump. Next to him, Kharis stood up and clapped politely and somewhere through the fog, Eric decided he should do the same.

)))(((

Owen and Teagan left the CEC at exactly 2:12, after hugging everyone around them twice, kissing many. Eric felt almost strangled by Owen’s strong, tan arms but let it happen.

"Congrats, Owen! Im..im so happy for you!" Eric sais, with about 45% sincerity, which was pretty damn good he thought.

Owen thanked him, smiling ear to ear, and drew him in for another hug.

"I dunno who that is, Eric, but he’s a fucking babe and if you don't get that dick up your pussy and tell me every god damn detail I will never forgive you," came the brutal hiss in his ear, and before Eric could even react, Owen had pulled away, all smiles again, leaving a kiss for each cheek.

And they left.

And then River left, with their dad, thanking everyone. Dates started trickling out, some looking disgruntled, and others, like Tomass fiance, quite satisfied, till all that was left were cake crumbs, lilacs, and Kharis.

Eric kept waiting for him to leave. It was past 2, afterall, and with so much activity it wasn't like either party had much time to try and charm the other, but as the last of the guests left and Eric had finished folding chairs and shoving them back into the supply closet, Kharis had all but snuck up behind him, a warm hand resting gently on his lower back. 

"Eric, would you care for a walk with me?"

And, well, what the fuck was he supposed to say but yes?

)))(((

Summer heat was already thick across the Nebraska fields, sunshine pouring from a cloudless sky. Perhaps it was for his own comfort that Kharis kept then in the shade of the CEC and its few trees (his formal polyester uniform couldn't be very cool), or maybe with such a fair skinned blonde as his date, he worried Eric would burn. Either way, already flushed, Eric was just as well off not strolling through the sun drenched yard.

"I had a nice afternoon, Eric, thank you for inviting me, even if it was last minute," he started kindly, though his tone had not lost any of its military formality.

Eric gave a vague shrug, hoping his hand wasn't shaking as they walked; hed just taken hold of Kharis's arm again, figuring that's what was expected. It was an informal enough contact that the lurking guards by the doors didn't stop him, at least.

"Im just glad Owen took to it ok by the end," Eric confessed, more thinking out loud than actually wanting to share with his courting stranger.

"Hm. Your friend Owen seems like a sharp young man, I'm sure he's going to find a way to carve out a niche for himself, wherever he is."

"Do you...do you know Teagan, his husband?" Eric asked, eyeing the stars on Kharis's uniform again. A general, which meant he would more or less be in charge of just about every soldier at the nearby bases, wouldn't he?

"Hm. No, not personally. I did look up his file after I received your invitation last night though. He's never had any write ups apart from once getting far too drunk on new years and streaking down main street wearing nothing but body paint."

"...please tell me that was, like, 30 years ago?"

Again, that deep, rumbling laugh that Eric could feel through his whole body.

"Fraid not, that was like 3 years ago, but, there are no violent offenses, so assault charges, he doesn't belong to an unusually conservative fraternity or religion. I can't guarantee his personal character at all, but he seems to have a calm temper and isn't that what you were really asking, Eric?"

Blushing, Eric looked away, past the volleyball net and the scattering of stunted cottonwoods, to the thick metal fence that ran the whole way around the CEC.

"Well, we can't get out, you kbow. All we can do is control who gets in."

Kharis nodded silently, following Eric's gaze to the fence, the lot beyond it, the silos in the distance. 

"I need to leave soon, Eric, I have work, and I think the others are getting antsy at me staying so long." At this, he looked sidelong into yhr bank of windows as they passed, 3 carrier faces pressed shamelessly to the screen.

Eric scoffed. Thirsty bitches, Kharis was a 6, 7 tops, of you asked him. Just because of his rank-

"But I want to thank you again for the invitation. I'd been hoping to properly meet you since March."

"What, my little runaway adventure?" Eric all but sneered, raising his free hand to brush back his hair as the wind played it against his lips.

"Mmhm."

"But you saw me for like 30 seconds, Kharis. I don't think I even spoke to you."

"I know, but it's not everyday you see a 125 pound carrier blow down a metal door like a wrecking ball and spider-monkey his way up a tower of refrigerators".

God fucking damn it, Eric couldn't help but laugh, blowing his cover of stoic detachment. Kharis seemed more than pleased with himself. 

"I have to admit, Eric, I found your tenacity endearing."

"I got my ass literally beat for that. "

"I have no doubt," he replied, with a stiff tone Eric found difficult to read. As they reached the edge of the building and crossed over to the tree line, the sunlight caught them, showing deep golden tones to his heretofore black hair and an almost imperceptible smattering of freckles over his nose. "That's how most CECs would handle a carrier who tried to run."

"Anyone in our position would try to run."

"But not many do, do they?" He asked, and Eric couldn't tell if he was being rhetorical or not, so he stayed quiet.

Quiet, too, was Kharis, letting the wind all but steal his voice as he leaned close to Eric and said in his ear,

"I would have run, too, Eric. It took bravery to run, and I appreciate that in a carrier."

"Sir, leave some room there, don't crowd the poor kid." One of the Guards by the back door called out to Kharis in a sharp, clear voice, and Kharis immediately obeyed, straightening his uniform and keeping only his arm within Eric's reach. With a nod to the guard, he checked the watch on his other wrist, groaning at the time.

"Eric, I do need to go, but I would like very, very much for the chance to see you again. If I request a second date, would you accept?"

Eric kept his eyes on the ground, keeping a watch for roots or stones, lest he trip. Back in his room on his wall hung Miller's number, his last request unanswered 

"You don't even know me."

"That's what dates are for."

"Smartass- shit, I'm sorry-!"

But the general only laughed again, slow and easy, and what the fuck was Eric supposed to say? No, fuck off? Thanks for saving my ass but get out?

Dovine had always made it clear you Eric, that they don't owe men anything. Not their time, not their attention, not their body, but thinking of his this day could have gone far worse, Eric couldn't help but feel it would be rude to not at least say maybe to a second date.

"...fine. Ok, you put through a request and I'll see if I feel like it."

Kharis smiled, looking pleased with himself in that way officers always do, but also, it seemed, genuinely happy.

"Excellent, then, a weekend supper?"

"Like I'm allowed anything else? Show up Saturday if you can, the spaghetti isn't the worst."


	14. Don't Tell The Devil I'm Here

Like a cobra, Dovine was coiled in their room and ready to strike the moment Eric walked in, the immediate deluge of questions almost overwhelming. Who was that when did he get asked out, were those STARS on his uniform, was Eric dating a general?!

Drowing and over emotional, Eric would have rather skipped that whole mess, but Dove’s swollen, red eyed betrayed how he has been spending his hour since Owen left with his new husband.

"Uh...I wanted to introduce you, but you were so busy with Owen and I didn't want to interrupt -"

So he filled Dove in, wanting to give just the basics, but instead he ended up on his belly in bed with Dove, going over every word changed between the two.

"Over four hours, Jesus. I've known carriers to get engaged before spending that much time with their men!" He sighed wistfully, still stroking the back of his ring finger. "Eric, you marry a general? You're set for life. Forget popping out a bunch of kids, you'll have nannies to help with that!"

Eric's eyes rolled so far back he would be surprised if Dove could still see any honey brown.

"I am not even on the plane of wanting to talk about marrying anyone, let alone a guy I just met five hours ago!"

Doves smile, playful and engaged, remained in place, even as it fell just a little.

"Yeah, well, that's how I felt too, Er, and then suddenly I've got 90 days to pick the man who’s going to legally and literally own me."

At a loss for words, and suddenly feeling very much only 17, all Eric could do was scoot just a little closer to Dove, and try hard not to look over at the bed where Owen would usually be nested. 

"Its...its just...its hitting me, Er," continued Dove with an audible catch in his voice. "Seeing Owen up there, pregnant, white dress, it just made it all so disgustingly real, you know ?"

"...iIdo, yeah," he answered gently, absently rubbing his foot against his friends. 

"And I use to, like...Eric, I figured I would have a carrier bride some day, isn't that fucking rich? Me, who bawled last week at the end of a government movie! Thinking I’d have me a bride and a couple kids...well, the kid parties a guarantee now at least… ...at a fucking government propaganda movie!"

"Hormones suck, Dove."

"They do, they're terrible, they just...hey, you wanna see a photo of me, from before?"

And by before, Eric knew he meant before his change, and though he wasn’t sure if it was polite, morbid curiosity won out and he nodded.

From his nightstand, Dove dug through his books, picking up a very dusty and obviously unread copy of the book of Mormon, the kind with a real cover, not the ones with the plastic binding, and opened it to a back page.

"Here," he said, handing a glossy 3x5 to Eric."This was taken at my acceptance party to the PhD program, just like, 5 months before I got here, 14 months ago.

Honestly Dove was almost unrecognizable, standing with a cute, chubby guy outside, at a barbeque, holding a beer bottle in one hand and his unseen cellphone in the other. Over the past year, his changing body and wild hormones had softened a once muscular jaw and plumped his cheeks. Arms that were once strong and firm in a t shirt now made toned but demure bases for lace sleeves and cotton blouses. Trim hips, a bit of stubble on his chin, now thinned to peach fuzz he might have to shave once a week at most, hair an inch long and spiked. Doves older brother, he would think, if he had no context. Not Dove, though, not his cooing bird. 

"Handsome," was all Eric could think so say, since he had no idea what kind of relationship Dovine had to the man he use to be. Suddenly, Eric had a pang of gratitude, for changing young, while childhood softness had still lent him a lanky, feminine appearance. He might have been robbed the end of his childhood, but at least he would never have to look at a photo of himself at 22 and think, where am I?

He just let out a sharp breath of laughter, and flipped the photo back around to look at it himself. 

"Yeah, I was. Had a boyfriend then you know? But I wasn't smart like Tomas, I didn't let him knock me up. He doesn't make enough money to pay what amounts to our fucking dowry, you know?" Sighing, he turned the photo over, sliding it back into his book. "Use to bench 175. Now, I could probably barely pick you up bridal style. Jesus Christ what the fuck happens to us, Eric?"

Instantly Eric's head was filled with Mr. Bloom’s voice, calmly explaining the process by which the body hollowed itself out, turning almost acidic to change their bodies, rejecting its own tissue like a defective transplant. Taylor's voice, explaining how estrogen softened their skin, regulated their cycles and made them cry. 2 pills every morning trying to save their poor systems from totally imploding on itself, speeding up the transition their bodies were already determined to go through. 

But that's not what Dovine was asking. He wanted to know what the hell this curse was, why this happened. In February, just five months ago, Eric had asked Taylor the same question from his hospital bed.

"I don't know, baby, I don't know."

Dove sighed through his nose, nodding so gently, he looked like he was bobbing along on top of a rivers lazy waves.

“...I just miss myself, Eric. I miss who I could have been by now.”

Dovine cried, and Eric let him, holding the older carrier and wondering if anyone had held him like this since his change. He never spoke of his family, and from what little Eric knew, he doubted they were happy for their previous engineer to not be destined for a life of baking, cleaning and motherhood.

"I don't want to get married," Dove sobbed into Eric's neck. "I don't wanna have babies! Carriers can die giving birth, did you know that?! I don't want some...some thing growing inside me, and then having to hold it, and what if i can't love it and I just fuck up my kids?"

"I...i'm sure you'll make a good mom, Dove!" Eric tried to sooth, though he had little proof of this. "You're so smart, Dove, you can raise your sons up to be everything they wouldn't let you be."

Something in that sentence was obviously very wrong, and only made him cry harder. By this point the only thing Eric could do was slip them both down, and wait for Dove to cry himself out.

Which he did, by just about supper time. Nobody asked about his red, puffy eyes; they had all shown into meals after meltdowns, that was par for the course. Even Jameson kept his shit to himself. Eric liked to think being outranked in his own facility had knocked down his pride a peg, but that was all speculation. 

That night, after a shared shower wherein Dovine spent way too long observing his own chest and stomach in a worried thought cycle of things to come, the pair curled up together in Doves bed, Eric reading out loud for them both, a story about a world not so unlike their own, regulated and controlled, where memories were something precious and never to be forsaken, even if what they brought was pain.

Both carriers were asleep by 9pm, warm and safe if for only a few hours.

)))(((

Kharis’s request for a second date came through Monday morning, just as he expected. So did Kyle's request for a fourth.

"Too bad I couldn't have been this popular before," Eric groaned across the table at Perry. The two should have been working away on their sewing machines, piecing together strips into a quilt, ostensibly to wrap their firstborn babies in, but one couldn't really gossip over the sound of a ten year old Janome. So instead they pressed their peddles down for a moment or two, sending eh needle forward maybe 2 inches at a time, just enough to keep their teacher off their backs.

"Right? I had two new guys asking for me this week. I told Ash to fuck off yesterday, though. Told me he wanted ten kids! Ten!"

"That's not a family, that's a small cult," Eric said with disgust, taking another stitch. "Like yeah, we know we’ll probably have that many eventually but you don't have to be so up front about it!"

Perry shuttered, carefully lining up two lavender and mint green strips. 

"Your new guys cute."

Eric shrugged, pulling a string from his own cloth.

"Sure, plenty of them are. Doesn't mean I'm ready to pick one. We still have time, you know?

Perry nodded, almost too eagerly. "Plenty of time...so you gonna break up with Kyle for Kharis or you gonna play the field?"

"It's hardly breaking up when you're required to date," Eric argued. "And I dunno. I guess I'll see how my second date with Kharis goes? Don't wanna burn a bridge too soon right?"

"Right, there's no rush. We have plenty of time."

"Plenty, " said Eric firnmy, and began to sew.

)))(((

Dovine, apparently over his little breakdown of society's expectations of their gender, told Eric to wear a skirt for his second date with Kharis. This early in the game, he said, loaning Eric a long, flowing silk thing, he should show how graceful and ‘girlish’ he could be, parroting a word they heard often but had zero context for, before getting comfortable later.

Eric wore jeans, a clean t shirt, and called it good. As dressed up as he was for their first date, this, he argued to himself, balanced it and averaged out to looking pretty fair both days. The way he saw it, if someone wanted to marry him and father children with him, he’d better get used to seeing him at his absolute worst. From what he’d seen in That Video, labor wasn't cute. 

Kharis stood to meet him as soon as he stepped through into the tiny dining room, himself wearing black slacks and a deep red button up, sleeves rolled to his elbows and it took everything in Eric's power to not stare at the curves of muscle along his forearms. He absolutely was not going to be won over just because this particular officer was physically pleasing.

"So good to see you again, Eric, I've been looking forward to this all week."

Yeah, Eric bet he said that to all the carriers from other CECs he dated through the week. Just like they might be testing the waters with two or three guys, men serious about finding wives might have a new date every other night. Carrier courtship was not an exact science, and this lucky first generation got to be the guinea pigs...hm. How fitting, that the Endgame Child got to be one of humanities first reborn mothers. Fucking poetic. 

"Yeah, um...I mean it's not like I have much else to look forward to. Oh, I did get to go home Thursday though, that's cool."

Kharis waited till Eric was seated before he sat back down, and he had some faint memories of old movies, fancy dinner parties and wondered what sort out outdated etiquette Kharis was still running on.

"With your family? Tell me about them?"

Well, for once, Eric felt like his words could flow freely. Talking about himself to strangers hadn't grown comfortable, but talking about his brother? Sure. What younger brother didn't look for chances to bitch about the time he got shoved off his bike or the time Daniel stole dad's car and ended up nearly hitting an old man, or the time he got suspended from school for letting 3 pigs loose in the halls labeled 1, 2 and 4.

Of course talking about Daniel lead to his father, how he was usually so calm but that raising his two boys could being out the absolute worst of his wits.

"Dad almost never yells," Eric rattled on, spinning tomato-covered noodles around on his fork. "When we did something really fucked up, like when I shot Daniel in the leg with a bb gun- he’s ok, he shows off the scar-he would just stare and sputter like he completely forgot how sentences work."

"...ok no, Eric, you can't just tell me you shot your brother with no backstory or context, that won't do, I insist on more details!"

"What? He was trying to teach me to shoot, me, an 8 year old on a weekend sugar high! He got on my nerves, I kicked him, he tried to kick me back, gun went off...totally not my fault...still got grounded for a month."

"So moral of the story is you can be a trying and tempestuous young man?" Kharis said, his tone dangerously serious but the squint to his eyes betraying his teasing.

"What, you not up for a challenge, then, Major General?" He retorted, pretending he knew what tempestuous meant. And as soon as the words left his mouth, Eric realized in deep horror that they could too easily be misconstrued as flirting, that most damning of sins.

Kharis might have noticed, but he chose to brush it off, laughing gently, and Eric scrambled to change the subject 

"Uh...so..what about you? Any brothers?"

Over his chuckling, Kharis nodded fervently. 

"Oh, God, yes. I’m actually the middle of nine."

Eric nearly choked on a chunk of meatball, and tried to cough as discreetly as possible into his napkin.

"Nine? Thats...thats before plague count, right?"

"Oh, no, after actually. It was 13."

"Jesus...that’s...a lot of kids."

Kharis nodded appeasingly. "It is. Growing up with 8 brothers was...never lonely, I can say that much."

"I wasn't lonely either but I didn't need 8 brothers to achieve that! God damn….do...do you want a, uh, large family?" He cautioned, doing his absolute damndest to feign cool detachment, and Kharis instantly dropped his fork and put both hands up.

"God, no, not if I can help it at all, 13 children would be...a handful, even on my salary."

"Oh. Which is. How much exactly?" Eric tried to ask casually, but he knew Kharis saw right through him.

"It says right on my file, Eric, which I know they sent you."

...yeah Well Eric didn't want to admit that he looked at his file long enough to scream out "holy shit it's Bunhead!" Before shoving it off on Taylor. Instead he just shrugged, showing how much he didn't care.

"Well, anyway...so...what do you do, to make the money I already know about?"

Kharis was...he was easy to talk to, and Eric found himself slipping in and actually almost interested in how animated the serious general could be, describing (briefly) how he designed government grade security protocols and national defense systems and (in depth) the time he convinced an arrogant cadet that if he tried tripping up the system to sneak wine from the kitchens at night he would be cut into square chunks by laser beams. 

"Wasn’t that something they pull in an old spy movie?" Eric asked, chuckling behind his (small) wine glass.

"It's something they pull in every old spy movie! And he bought it, you should have seen him on the camera footage, ducking around underneath a white sheet, trying to outsmart the motion sensors. He tripped them off, got locked in the kitchen, alarms blaring through the whole base- it was wonderful."

And he laughed again, losing himself for just a moment, passing an hour before he realized, feeling more relaxed than he had in months-

And as soon as he realized, he fucking hated himself for it.

)))(((

This was absolutely not what was suppose to happen and Eric was furious. He lie in bed that night, curled small under his covers, Dove snoring softly 5 feet away, and sulked. This was an outrage, a shame, and a failure. 

Eric McDaugh had enjoyed an arranged date with a 36 year old military brat, and as far as he was concerned the world was ending. No, worse than the world ending, he felt like the world was /winning/

"Fucking Bunhead," he muttered into the back of Bartholomew fluffy head, roughing one long ear. It was Bunheads fault. He’d been around long enough and surely knew how to charm dumb, young carriers. As soon as he realized his daddy was poor or he didn't plan on being a sweet submissive little Mrs, hed pick up and go look somewhere else. 

Right?

Eric turned over, restless, hugging his bunny to his chest, and closed his eyes as tight as he could. Maybe if he kept them closed long enough, closed them hard enough, wished fervently enough, then when he opened his eyes he would be home again. Real home, not his dorm room at Stillwater. His own bedroom, with his 6 blankets piled against the chilly night air, with the water spots covered by posters and pictures of friends he hasn't even spoken to in 5 months. With dad in the bedroom down the hall and Daniel skulking around the bedroom apartment he’d made in the garage. Longingly, he pretended to smell dad's pancakes sizzling in the kitchen, a Sunday morning breakfast, and afterwards he would go out and run around town. God, he wished for just one more afternoon of freedom, where he wouldn't have to be under the watchful eye of guards or chaperones or his worried father. Just one more night coming home at 2 am without worrying he would get raped and pregnant and married off-!

He opened his eyes. Pale blue walls, Dovine’s green and black bedspread. School books about childbirth and setting tables, not an algebra worksheet in sight. No chemistry, no engineering or literature. A high schoolers dream, right? 

For the first time in 5 months, since the comfiest night he arrived at the education center, Eric pulled the covers over his head and cried.

He missed himself, too.

)))(((

His fourth date with Kyle was fine. Kyle was always fine. Tonight he brought Eric flowers, a little bundle of white and yellow daisies. They smelled sweet, and were wrapped in a pretty, sparkly white paper. Honestly it would be terribly romantic on the outside, but here, it just felt like he was filling in another box on some wife hunt checklist.

But he was fine. He showed Eric a video of Cantaloupe, and all Eric could think was that he forgot to ask Kharis if he had a dog.

Fuck. No. This shit wasn't going to fly, Eric was not going to be one of those weak little carriers who fell for the first hot guy who walked in with a thick wallet. He was just...lonely, and missing his dad and brother. That's what this place did, right? They isolated them and preyed on their insecurities, made them feel alienated from their own bodies while pretending to help them embrace their changing sex. He was scared and lonely and clinging to the first thing that offered him kindness!

...so why wasn't he clinging to Kyle just as hard?

The whole evening, the whole dinner, the whole stroll around the track at sunset, the awkward moment when he could sense Kyle wanting to kiss him goodnight but settling for a quick peck on his forehead, it was all super duper fine.

...Kyle didn't make him laugh like Kharis did, or tease him like Kharis and by the end of the night, staring at the CEC door as the locks automatically engaged, Eric knew there was only one option here. 

He had to open those other 3 envelopes and get that fucking man out of his head.


	15. An Inhumane World

"You're just wasting your time, Eric, seriously. You've already got two winners, why are you still shopping around? Now hold still, you're gonna smudge your base coat."

Eric sighed, but obeyed his friends instructions, keeping his hand flat on the towel. The pair sat cross legged on Eric's bed, window open to the breeze as Dovine taught Eric how to paint his nails. French manicures and painted fingers were the latest trend among the CEC carriers, and some small part of Eric just wanted to be a part of things for once. Before, peer pressure meant daring each other to jump off rooves or sneak dad's whiskey. Here, it meant painting the body and piercing one another's ears with seeing needles (which Eric had so far avoided.)

"It's not wasting my time," he aegued, watching Dovine shake a bottle of sky blue polish, little marbles rattling around the glass. "I have 7 and a half months left, that's more than half a year, it's plenty if time to shop around!"

Dove shrugged, uncapped the bottle, and began to paint slow, even strokes over Eric's nails.

"You're a better canvas than Owen, he chews his nails. Wonder if his husband will make him stop?"

Eric didn't answer. He wasn't suppose to.

"Besides," he pressed on, still set on converting Dove to his side. "Maybe the man of my dreams is in the next evlnvelope!"

Dove made a skeptical noise in the back of his throat. 

"Don't be chasing fairy tale endings, Eric. Settle for a man who won't beat and rape you. "

In a way, Dovine's increasingly crass attitude, a sure sign that his own clock was starting to freak him out, was actually pleasant for Eric. He was over the sweet platitudes of being the new boy. 4 new carriers had joined them since he had in February, and the pessimistic realism felt almost like senority.

"I know, but I don't want to get married, like, next week and wonder who might have been next."

Dove took his hand and turned it, to get to Eric's thumb. "I gotcha, kid, I gotcha...I've got three dates this weekend, then. Want to make a contest of it?"

"What, who can get knocked up first?"

Dove laughed, his platinum hair now down to tickle his nose. "Naw, I mean, I got a Friday night, a Saturday night, and a Sunday brunch. How about we rip into those envelopes and see if we can match you up?"

"Get ready for our dates together?"

"Hell yeah!" Dove guahed, a light springing in his glass like blue eyes. "Why not have some fun till we end up with ten kids?"

And Eric really couldn't argue that logic.

)))(((

Friday

)))(((

Dovine's first date was with a sergeant named McMahon. 41, rugged looking, no kids. For Eric it was, of all things, a surgeon named Nathaniel Chen, 39. He hadn't dated anyone who wasn't active military so at the very least it would be a change of pace.

At Dove's behest, Eric finally donned the skirt he'd been loaned, and at the very least it was perfect for summer. A long wrap of gold and burgundy dipdyeing ghosted at his ankles, and he wore a deep cerulean top to go with it. Dove approved, and leant him a gold chain necklace to wear with it.

"I look like a girl," Eric remarked to his reflection as Dove wrestled with the clasp on the necklace.

"No, you look like a carrier."

"And there's a difference?"

"As long as I'm around there god damned is. Got it, little motherfucker!"

Eric laid his fingers over the delicate links, then up to ruffle through his hair. It was so, so awkward and so short still. He wondered for a moment how important it would be to him, in choosing a husband, whether he would let him cut his hair boy-short again. One had to rank these things, of course.

"Whaddya think Er? We gonna come back to our rooms with engagement rings?"

With an appraising eye Eric looked his best friend up and down, noting the skirt short enough that should he bend over there would be many a thing on display.

"Looks more like you're gonna come back to our room with plans to make a baby," he scoffed, but then softened it with, "you look cute, Dove."

"Fucking right we do."

)))(((

Dr. Chen was as dry and bland as overdone wheat toast and Eric was ready to get that shit over with before they'd even started on their chicken and dumpling soup. He laid down his schooling, residency, income, after work activities and housing situation like it was a job interview, and laid out his marriage expectations with just as much enthusiasm. If his first two men were apparently the gold standard of carrier dates, Dr. Chen was ranking in their somewhere around tarnished nickel.

Dove, on the other hand, had a lovely time with McMahon, who was apparently funny as fuck despite looking like hed spent the last decade in a foxhole.

Fucking great for Dove, then, laughing it up while Eric nearly fell asleep in his roll.

)))(((

Saturday 

Second date of the week was a terribly handsome soldier named Daegan, 34, just got promoted to Luitenant, air force, and he had the most green eyes Eric had ever seen. Like, real green, crayon green, not hazel or olive or anything like that. When he spoke, his Louisiana drawl came out syrup-thick, and Eric had to remind himself that it was fucking ok to find a guy hot. He'd always found guys like Daegan hot, and being set up in a blind date didn't diminish that fact.

Lieutenant Daegan Cleary was a cat person, which made a decent change of pace as Eric, too, was a cat person, and his only request in marriage was that Eric learn to make fried chicken, grits, good barbecue, because he fucking missed that shit living up in the corn fields.

Eric supposed he had heard worse requests.

"I don't even remember mines name," Dove grumbled, already washing off his makeup by the time Eric got back. "He tried to get up my skirt beneath the table, wouldn't take no for an answer, and got his head bashed in to the chair by the guard ten minutes in. Turns out I was his first date and he was drunk as shit. "

"Well they won't let him date anyone else will he?" Asked Eric, shrugging out of his vest, and Dove just raised his eyebrows and sighed.

"Dunno. They probably wanna see what the fucker does sober."

)))(((

Sunday morning brunch was with a man so old Eric wasn't even sure he was still capable of sireing children and Eric was very sure there had to have been a mistake. They wouldn't let someone over 60 marry a young, fertile carrier with a good 30 years of child potential, would he?

And then he got hold of Erics waist and tried to draw him in for a kiss at their goodbye, proving that, at the very least, he still had it in him.

Dove, on the other hand, got laid by a 45 year old lawyer with little round glasses and a sweatervest Dove found just terribly charming.

"With the guard there?!"

Dove waved his hand dismissively. "The guard only cares about them beating you around or forcing you. Everyone clutches their pearls and acts like an unwed mother is some affront to decency, but Owen was right, Eric, they don't really care that much. Around here, "fuck me" is pretty much "I do."

"And do you?"

"Naw man we used a condom."

Eric nodded his understanding, and tucked his feet up beneath him. Most of the carriers were spending their Sunday afternoon outside, but a couple were lazing about the commons room, reading or playing a racing game with each other. It was calm, almost cozy, and honestly their talk felt almost sacriligious, out of place in a room where life felt almost normal. 

"So what about you, Eric? Find your prince this weekend?"

Eric pulled a sour face, and shook his head. "Ni, just the usual barrel of toads."

"Right. So then what did we learn?"

And by we he meant Eric, that was obvious, and immediately, unbidden, one image came to Eric's mind, the same image that had been floating around in the back of his head through the entire weekend. No, entire week. Black curls, dark skin, slow smile and broad hands he may or may not have wondered about feeling on his thighs beneath that long skirt -

"I learned that I need another stack of envelopes."

"Fucking christ, Eric, " Dove shrieked, slapping him across the shoulders with a magazine. Before Eric could retaliate, though, an even larger commotiton across the room caught everyone's attention. 

"Sup fuckfaces, miss me?"

"OWEN,"

"Sup y'all."

It had been 2 weeks since Owen left on his honeymoon and the "older" carriers at the CEC, who knew him, missed him something awful. His bouncy attitude and fuckall manner of life really kept the atmosphere bubbly, and the hole of his absence was noticeable. Dove especially had seemed lonely and clingy, though Eric guessed some of that had to do with his impending marriage date.

"Christ, Owen, you sure you aren't having twins?" Was Dove's first words to him after hugging him tight around the neck. "You got huge!"

"Fuck you, yes I'm sure, and I have a new ultrasound to prove it!" He yelled back, setting his hands atop his middle. "It's not twins, I'm just fat because everyone in Teagans family wants to feed me!"

"Doesn't look like you fought them off too hard."

"- Fuck you too Eric, nice manicure."

Eric beamed.

The scattering of boys inside helped Owen over to the couch, kicking off books and board game pieces to make a nest for their friend. All around them was chatter, everyone wanting to know about the trip, the family, the honey moon, the sex. Essentially they were 5 very curious and isolated men desperate to scrounge up news of the outside and gleam an insight into their inevitable future.

Owen was more than ready to gossip, and he pulled up photos on his phone (no internet block, Eric noted), showed off the newest image of his fetus in progress, and swore up and down that Teagan hadn't beaten him yet.

They had to ask, though. In most of their eyes, it wasn't a matter of if, but when, and if Owen was the exception to that then they needed to know how.

)))(((

With more than a little wounded pride, Eric accepted another date with Kharis, and the entire day in class it was all he could think of.

'Should I shave my legs?' He asked in a note passed to Dove during quiet study.

'Naw, you're blonde...unless you want him to touch.'

That's what he fucking got for asking Dovines advice on anything ...and fuck him for putting that image in his head. The last thing he needed was to sit through class half hard and wet. Bitch.

Classes released at 2, and he didn't have supper till 6:30, so that was more than enough time to kill. He approached Taylor at the front desk, getting his files in order before his maternity leave next month, and asked for the phone. Honestly as spacey as Taylor was these days he could have asked for a shot of vodka and probably got it.

Dial, ring, ring, ring,-

"Hey dad, I catch you on break!"

"Yeah, perfect timing, Eric, as always! How you doing baby boy?"

"I'm good dad, just got out of class, just chilling. How's work?"

Before, when his dad would talk about the welding shop, Eric would have listened, rolling his eyes as dad went on about arcs and metal content and UV protection standards. It all seemed so ghastly boring, grown up shit teenage Eric didn't wanna think about. But Eric...Eric should have graduated high school that weekend, and suddenly dad's welding shop seemed like a far off and tantalizing land of opportunity. Even if he never wanted that work, it hurt not having that choice anymore. Carriers could be nurses, they could work in CECs, maybe in the future older carriers could be nannies or secrataries, but for now, homemaker and mother was pretty much it. And sometimes Eric though maybe he was coming to terms with that.

Other times he realized it was just the panic numbing him out.

"So, dad, I uh...I got a date tonight. "

A pause, always a pauae. "Yeah, Er?"

"Yeah. Names Kharis. He's nice. Not too old, he's smart-"

"He treat you ok?" Mitchell asked, always.

"As ok as I could hope, dad". At least so far.

)))(((

Kharis, as was pattern, stood to meet Eric, his face lighting up behind his stern features.

"Mr. McDaugh, as handsome as I recall," he greeted, and Eric had to roll him eyes. The summer seemed to be getting to even the General, because tonight it was just crisp tan linen pants and a white button up, untucked, that stood out against his brown skin. And, most important and pleasing, his hair was contained again back into it's bun.

"You look ok for a thirty something."

Kharis smiled wider, pulling out his dates chair for him, and pouring for each of them just a little white wine. Again Eric noticed his own glass barely even got wet. He wondered if Kharis was afraid of Erics small size, or if there was some health shit keeping him from topping off the glass.

"Owen came to visit the other day," Eric all but burst out, still glowing from the afternoon. "He looks good...round...wears it well. "

"I actually also saw Mrs. Demuir, not long after they got back from Canada."

"You did??"

Kharis noded, taking a sip of his wine. "Teagan couldn't help but show the boy off to his batallion when they returned, insisting he join them for lunch on base, officers dining hall. Honestly your friend can work a room like a starlet."

Eric nodded vigorously, knowing full well how much Owen thrives on attention. "And he...he seemed happy?"

Black eyes roaming over his face, sharp ears weighing his voice, Kharis nodded.

"He did. Owen seems...well adjusted for this life, as much as anyone can."

Eric wondered when River would get to start school, knowing Owen was already dreaming about seeing his little brother in a cap and gown.

One of the kitchen employees brought them dinner, something that looked like it wanted to pretend to be goulash, and the pair both shared a less than enthused look.

"Sorry," Eric said apologetically, poking his concealed noodles and weasling out what he thought might be a bit of potato. "The food here is usually pretty good, but it's health over taste in the end."

"Well its...ah...important for you carriers to eat plenty of calories and vegetables, to ah...maintain...um...well, perhaps on our next date I can get permission to take you out of the CEC for a real dinner."

Eric pulled out a green sliver, which might have been spinach or just a very flat green bean, and struggled to find his voice.

"We haven't even...gotten through date 3, you sure you want a date four?"

Kharis went quiet, and still, before lowering his fork to his plate so gently it barely made a noise. Folding his hands together he rested his chin upon them, and took a deep breath.

"Yes, Eric, I would," he said, slipping back into his calm and controlled demeaner. "Eric. You're intelligent and capable, and very cognizant of the world around you. I don't think I need to explain outright to you that I'm courting you in hopes of marrying you. Every man who applies through the CEC is looking to get married and start a family in the near future. It's not like dateing other men at school or on base, just for fun."

Eric was no child, not anynore, and he nodded his sage understanding. 

"I know. There's no way they would ever let me forget it, honesty. I went on three dates over the weekend," he volunteered, and seriously/casually appraised Kharis' face for signs of jealousy or indignation. 

Instead, he just tilted his head in understanding and asked how they went. Eric was unable to read any particular tone, be it disinterest or prying. 

Eric speared a soggy noodle on his fork and took an an experimental lick, blanched, and had to force himself to swallow down the bite. Pride kept him from even thinking about having to choke down a supplement shake in front of Kharis.

"Fine. They're always fine, I guess."

"Hm. And how about me, then, am I fine?"

And god damned if there wasn't this little freaking smirk on his fucking face, as though he knew Eric was thinking of a whole other definition of fine. Kharis Page had this confidence about himself that could border on arrogant, but Eric would far rather be with a man who had power and good looks and /knew it/ than a man who dealt deeply in false humility. Fake modesty was unbecoming, and though not a braggart, it was clear Kharis was the sort of man to own up to his own triumphs. Being in a situation of deep power imbalance, where one limited choice of yes or no was the only card Eric had to play, he could...appreciate that transparsency.

"...so where you taking me on our date, General? I expect something fancy with that salary I absolutely didn't overlook and know all about."

)))(((

Two days later, Eric McDaugh was jumping through at least nine hoops to get the approval necessary to leave the CEC with somebody not officially his legal guardian, and to go about town on top of that. He needed a new photo taken for his newly printed ID, Kharis had to leave a verified phone number, address, timetable and schedule. When he came to pick him up, he spent a solid seven minutes just signing paperwork acknowledging that Yes he understood he would go to jail if he did anything to send Eric over county lines, hand him over to another man, leave him unattended or endanger him in any way.

From what he read, though, none of those contracts said anything about punishment for any physical contact. Big surprise there.

But what could he do but sit there in the lobby, listening to the receptionist and Kharis go round and round over the logistics of their chaperone and Eric's curfew and whether or not the resteraunt was within the approved districts, while trying to figure out how, exactly, one was suppose to sit in a skirt. Cross legged? That still wasn't comfortable, even without balls to get in the way, like 17 years of muscle memory telling him nope, don't do that. Crossing his ankles seemed too dainty and fake, trying too hard, but spread and comfortable would have been a scandal, and an ankle up on the knee? Even worse. Fucking Christ a carrier can't even sit how they wanted!

"Eric,, are you ready to go?"

Screw sitting like a carrier, he's fairly sure he flashed the both of them his panties in his scramble to get to the door. 

Kharis, as ever just laughed softly, as though he were perpetually bemused by his young companion.

He told him he looked pretty, Eric said Kharis looked fine. In truth he looked painfully handsome, wearing his uniform tonight, and he couldn't help but assume he wore it to look especially imposing towards anyone who might mean Eric harm that night.

On the arm of a man, an officer, Eric felt wary, as his carrier education had taught him, but also very secure in the knowledge that absolutely nobody they passed could match Kharis in a take down...himself included. Which was probably a good thing to remember; as soon as they were outside the gates, heading towards his car, the idea struck him, as it would any carrier. Run, this is your chance, run, hide, get away-!

But they are fleeting impulses that he knew, with wisdom beyond 17, would lead only to heartache. And body aches, because no matter what kind of sprint Eric managed, he was a teenage carrier and Kharis was a man with almost 20 years of intense military training. He'd be on the ground within 6 seconds, easy. So he let those thoughts pass, steeling himself in this decision to obey, not unlike when he made the decision to register just that winter before.

Of course, Kharis held the door for him (the chaperone slipped himself without word into the back seat) And Eric became enchanted with the scenes outside his window. He had spent his entire life in this little Nebraska city, just 20 minutes from the Kansas border, right in the middle of the whole godamned country, but it had been nearly half a year since he had even driven by these buildings; their house was the opposite direction from the CEC. It was just past 7, the sun still strong over the horizon; June in the Midwest, nightfall wouldn't be until well past 9. All the same, the shadows were growing, bruise purple to match the fiery light as they passed the mall, the southern bank, the huge expanse that was the military base proper and the subset of houses in a shiny lot near it.

"Do you live in one of those?" Eric asked, and Kharis nodded, not taking his eyes off the road.

"I do, yes, since I transferred to this base from Lincoln last year. It's small though, since I'm single. When I get married, I'll be allowed to move to a three bedroom, with a yard."

'When /I/ get married', he said, not when /we/ get married, and Eric felt himself relax a little bit onto his seat. Good, he wasn't assuming by date 4 that Eric was going to jump into bed with him right away, that was comforting, he supposed.

"So...a one bedroom? Does that leave any room for pets? A dog?"

Kharis was a very attentive driver, and was quiet for a moment while making a left turn onto main street, finally getting in the the part of town that could be called nice.

"Dog? No, no, no room for a dog yet. Besides, I'm more of a cat person."

Looking out the window, out of sight of his date, his chaperone, and the government, Eric let himself have a small smile.

)))(((

Nowhere, Nebraska, didn't exactly have much of a nightlife, or a plethora of five star dining. Dad said, before the plague? Their city was up and coming. They just put in a mall, a real, indoor mall, not a strip of outlet stores all linked by a sidewalk. There was thriving business and the new military base to bring in young people and money, and there were nicer places, Italian spots, even gourmet coffee bars. Then came the war and the plague and now the nicest spot to eat was a mediteranian place. You knew it was nice because they listed the prices only with the dollar numbers, no decimals or cents. Eric, having never had Greek food, let Kharis order for him so long as he understood it was only because he didn't know any of the dishes, not because he was one to let his date pick his food.

Kharis assured him he assumed no such thing, asked if Eric liked eggplant, and ordered him mousakka.

...everything felt so strange. At least during dates at the CEC, Eric knew it would last 45 minutes, tops, and he could out at any moment if Shit Got Wierd. But now there was no door he could easily slip through. Even if he told his chaperone he was done and wanted to go home, it would be a long and awkward drive back.

Luckiky, Kharis didn't seem to be one intimated by quiet pauses. Unluckily, he seemed to really be wanted to /talk/.

"So tell me about school, Eric," he asked, after handing his menus back to the waiter.

Eric reached for one of the crisp bits of bread and oil on the table and broke one open, watching the steam billow out.

"You mean real school or CEC classes?"

"Both, either. I'm guessing the curriculum at Stillwater isn't the same as your government school?"

Eric shook his head, scoffing audibly around his bite of bread.

"Not even close! I mean, I didn't like chemistry or pre war literature, but at least it was more interesting than sewing or housekeeping or how to buy a bra- shit," he finished, shoving another large bite of bread into his mouth and feeling his ears turn pink. "Anyway, it's just that, we don't need it, I guess? But I was suppose to graduate earlier this month…but some of my classes are ok!" He finished in a hurry. Fucking christ, Taylor and Dove just wouldn't get out of his head, telling him what a big deal this was, this date, the fact that a general was interested in him. It was brewing into a weird mix of performance anxiety and resentment. Couldn't he just enjoy a date with a hot guy- no he shouldn't want to enjoy this!

Christ.

"Oh? Tell me about some?" Kharis pressed on gently, and Eric scrambled for an answer.

"...music. I kinda like music class. One of the nurses teaches us for a couple hours on friday? And I mostly just practice piano scales, but it's fun."

Kharis nodded eagerly. "When i was in school, music was actually required, for a few years at least. I played trunpet. Badly."

"Pf. You don't strike me as the kind of guy to give up on something just because you suck at it."

"Oh, you're right, I'm not. I played for 6 years, auditioned for my infitries band as a new cadet...my sargeant had me washing dishes for two months to pay him back for the emotional damage."

Eric hated himself for laughing, and tried to stifle down the bubbling humor. It wasn't hard, as it was being drown out by his rising anxiety and feeling of claustrophobia. 

"...You know there are still programs that will let a carrier study to get their GED," Kharis said with measured caution, taking his own bit of dark bread. "Usually before a carrier goes on to nursing classes or secretarial work."

"Sure, if your husband let's you," he dismissed with the hand still holding his bread.

Kharis tipped his head to one side, a few dlsteay could of black hair falling around his temple. "I'd let you."

Before Eric could stop himself and remember to be a good and lenient carrier who doesn't stir shit, he crammed the last bite of his roll into his mouth and proclaimed, "you're suppose to say that."

"...Excuse me?" For once, it seemed, Eric had caught the general off guard, and honestly it emboldened him.

"Yeah," he pressed casuslly, as though he was not a carrier suddenly talking back to a man who had been nothing but kind to him. "Men are suppose to say that, right? That you'll let us go to school and you only want a few kids and we can get a job if we want, and our lives aren't over, not really, but then we'll get married and as soon as we're in our marriage bed you'll have your way with us and knock us up and once we have kids it's all over, right? Righr?"

Kharis sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of Eric's words settle over the table. He sat down his bread, picked up his napkin to carefully wipe his hands, and sighed.

"Whoever taught you to be wary, was very wise," he began, as Eric's heart was going berserk in his chest. "Because I can't deny that is the MO of many men. Nor can I deny that even with finishing school or having a job, the primary place expected of a carrier in our world is motherhood. You're right, most of my men's wives might have a job through the first child, maybe two, but rarely beyond that and only at the indulgence of their husbands-"

"See?"

"- And it's unfair and I can't imagine what a hardship it is for you to face."

"...I wish you would stop that."

"Pardon?" Kharis asked, raising his dark brows. Eric squirmed in his seat, sure he would start sweating through his blouse.

Fuck it.

"Stop just...trying to win me over. Stop acting nice and telling me what I want to hear, just to get on my pants. Up my dress. Whatever. You know I'm only dateing because I HAVE to...actually why the fuck are you looking to date me anyway? I'm 17!"

"...I know," Kharis responded quietly once it was obvious that Eric was giving a pause to his rambling. "I'm twice your age, I know that, but I'm no pedophile. I have dated carriers my age as well. Almost got engaged to one even."

Ready to pounce, Eric asked, "and what happened there??"

A squint and a wan smile played across his face, and the general took a deep breath. "He said yes one day, and the next, he decided he didn't want mixed race children. "

Fuck. That answer was the opposite of a win. Eric nearly growled in the back of his throat. He tapped his hands against his water glass, desperate for an outlet from this nervous energy.

While he was busy, though, Kharis filled the void of words between them. 

"Eric...alright, you want to be direct, then let's be direct. I am dateing you with the intent of marrying you, should you agree to a marriage. As we are living in the Union, and you are a carrier, it goes without saying that children are a legally required part of this marriage barring your unlikely inferility.

"I value education and hard work and should you want I will pay for your education and arrange employment outside the home- I am a general, i make an obscene amount of money and could employ a nanny to help you with the children if you wished to continue to hold part time work for your emotional well being. Additionally I plan on being an active father in my future children's lives and do not plan for my wife to effectively raise them alone.

"I am aware that you are 17 and that is unfortunate in a variety of ways, among them is the vast amount of years you are losing due to the change. I find you very pretty in your maturity, not your childishness, and should we marry, your age is not the deciding factor. I want my wife to be someone I could build a life with, whom I have things in common and who I can see myself growing to love."

Dumbstruck, Eric sat there, unable to even thank the waiter as his plate was sat down in front of him. Picking up his fork, Kharis awaited Eric to speak again, and when he did not, he merely finished,

"Eric McDaugh, you need to understand one thing. As criminally unfair as the life of a carrier is, your change cannot be undone nor can the state of the world and global politics be easily swayed. There is no future for you where you are free, safe, single and childless. Marriage and childbirth is a practical certainty for you, as cruel as that is. I cannot save you, Eric, but should you allow me, I can lessen your suffering in an inhumane world."


	16. Count your Blessings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an extra warning in this chapter for more detailed mentions of war, bioterrorism, comparisons to nuclear warfare, and death

Kharis walked Eric back inside the CEC, past all the locked doors and security protocol he himself seemed to have played a part in, and wished him a good night. Eric didn't allow a kiss, still, not a real one, but let Kharis kiss the top of his head; that was about as intimate as he could stand right then, with his head aswim in deep emotional seas.

"I enjoyed seeing you, Eric, think over what we talked about," Kharis implored before being seen out by the guard.

Yeah, he fucking would. Jesus.

Getting back to his dorm was a relief, even if half the carriers were still awake to whistle at him and ask if he'd gotten engaged yet. He just rolled his eyes, nudged Perry with his foot, and slunk into his room.

"Hey there little prince" Dove said, curled up in bed with a book before sleep. "Have a fun date with Major General Page?"

"...it was eventful," Eric groaned, kicking off his shoes and plopping face down onto the bed. "And not in that way!" He said to Dove's heavily arched eyebrows. "I still have my carrier virtue intact thank you!"

"Pf, for now," Dove said with a grin, and barely managed to not catch a pillow to the face. "For real though, he's still a catch. You break up with Kyle yet?"

Eric groaned, sitting up to start getting out of his nice date clothes. His bare chest felt good against the summer night air blowing in from the window.

"I don't even want to think about Kyle right now, " Eric grumbled and tossed his blouse into a drawer. It still smelled fine so as far as he was concerned it was clean. "He's fine, I don't wanna burn that bridge yet -"

Before Eric could finish up his thought, a sudden high pitched wailing filled their rooms, three sharp tones, a pause, three more.

"What the fuck?!" Came a voice that had to be Tomas; nobody else could yell loud enough to be heard over the alarm. 

"Fire drill?" Dove asked, hands over his ears at the same time that Eric asked, "tornado siren?"

Out in the commons room, the other carriers were asking the same questions, wondering if they should be filing to the yard or heading down to the basement.

There was no panic, nobody started trying to beat down doors, but as they joined the others in the commons room Eric had to note that nobody was taking action either. They were a group of men totally controlled, too afraid to make any choices.

Luckily, they didn't have to. Within a minute, the door to B dorm opened, one of the chaperones making his way in and herding Collin in, hair still wet from the shower.

"Ok, boys, you're on a lockdown," the guard told them simply, not seeming bothered at all by the blaring alarm. From his pocket he pulled out his work phone, and ran through his list of B dorm carriers, calling each out by name for roll call. Once assured that all six were present, he reached behind him, locked the door, and called someone else on the radio function of his phone, to report an all present.

"What's going on?" Perry asked, anxiously tugging on a lock of coily black hair, but the guard shook his head and bade all six of them to sit down, and he went to each of the three bedrooms, took out his key ring and locked the doors, starting with Dove and Eric.

"Hey, lemme get a shirt!" Eric protested, but the clunk of the lock was final, and immediately Eric realized how fucking cold he was, and stole a blanket off the couch, sulking.

"Come on, Marin, why you locking us all up like criminals? More than usual I mean, " Dove asked, emboldened by the drama around him. The guard just peered down at the carrier, pointed to the cushions on the blood and told him to sit.

"...this is bullshit, " He mumbled, but took a seat near Eric and the other boys.

For half an hour they sat still, antsy. The older carriers, those who could remember the war as children, they took this uncertainty the worst, the now -stilled sirens reminding them of bombings and air raids, of their city engulfed in fire and chemicals burning away concrete and soil and flesh.

Eric, not for the first time, was grateful to be born as the war was over; he was curious more than anything, and bored. They were all bored, checking the clock over the door every few seconds and wondering why it had not moved.

Finally, after nearly an hour had passed, and Tomas was having a fit about needing to pee, a call finally came through, over speaker through Marin's phone.

Search was over, Jameson's voice came through, tinny from the small speaker. And they found the little runaway, and were on the way back.

Shit.

)))(((

At 9:05 that night, Zion Savoy, a 33 year old carrier who had been admitted to the Stillwater CEC, dorm A, just 3 weeks ago, made it out his window, across the yard and, somehow, past the fence and made a run for freedom. Inside job, they were wondering, or outside assistance.

He had every reason to run; he'd just been promoted to Lieutenant earlier that year, got a nice pay raise, fancy new office, and a carrier boyfriend the next county over at the Deerfield CEC. Had it all, and lost it all over the course of a few nights. Of course, their courtship was invalidated. Of course there was no possibility they could be together now. And of course Zion couldn't be sent to Deerfield, so he came 30 miles away to Stillwater.

So he ran, and he was tracked down, he was caught and ha was brought back. And there he was in the classroom, just as Eric had been some months before. Half the group had turned over, and Eric was now an unwilling spectator rather than the center of attention, but other than that the situation was near use identical, down to the terrified look on Zion's Face that had surely mimicked his own.

"Carriers, I must apologize for this...interruption of your night," Jameson told the other ten, enjoying the spotlight as always. "You should all be in bed getting rest, but here we are, hm?"

Eric stood next to Dove, shifting from one foot to another and trying to not visibly shiver. He still hadn't been allowed a shirt, and though he wasn't especially cold underneath his blanket wrap, the classroom air conditioner was blowing, and his nerves seemed to be draining the hear from his blood.

"Carrier Savoy here doesn't seem to have learned the rules of a CEC, even after spending so much time and paperwork being able to court a carrier and being with you lovely young men for some time-"

Jameson eyes, dark and glimmering with that narcissistic pride of a man in love with his own voice, roamed over the men he controlled, and Eric couldn't help but remember what Dove had said his first day with them; it's some way to show off his masculinity, to lord over a bunch of men with surplus estrogen and no civil rights.

"- so I see it as my duty to remind him, and the rest of you, of your place here."

He left Zion's side, the new carrier being held in place by a guard, but instead of going straight for his favorite yardstick, he stepped towards the gathered crowd, shrugging off his uniform jacket, and pulled insistently on Erics blanket, tugging it down from his shoulders,. Suddenly half bare, Eric had never felt more vulnerable and exposed, and that includes all the times he'd had a doctor poking between his legs.

Before Eric could get out a single question, Jameson had slung the jacket over Eric's shoulders, pulling it across his chest.

"It's vulgar for a carrier to be walking about bare chested," Jameson scolded, repeating a rare but obnoxious sentiment a few men had begun to hold. Ugh, as though their flat chests were somehow different than their own.

But Eric didn't have the bravery needed right now to challenge Jameson while he was in a mania, and he just tucked his head down and let the warm fabric settle over him.

Captain Darryl Jameson, of course, was pleased. 

...it was quick work, at least, from their point of view. Just 6 lashes over his thighs. He was even allowed to keep his underwear on. But the speed in which the punishment was over did little to lessen the impact it had on either victim or audience. Zion, a soldier, cried out during the last 2 lashes, no doubt as much from anguish as from physical pain. By the end if it, Eric was shaking even harder, being one of a few there who knew what it felt like to be on both sides. 

He looked sidelong at Dove, pity and sorrow heavy on his face, and Eric knew they were sharing the same thought; whatever punishment Zion would receive was not over here.

"Gentleman, " Jameson called loudly, whacking the yardstick hard against the edge of the table as Zion slid to the floor. "You are told over and over, from the time you arrive here - no, since 87, when this mutation, this...gift...first began to show itself. Carriers are /treasures/, not just to our state or the union but to this world. Cedric, you're how old, 34?"

"Th...thirty three , sir," a copper haired femme answered from behind Eric.

"Indeed. And how old were you then when the plague reached us?

"15, sir."

"So you should remember it well? Share with the class if you will, Carrier Benson, what was the world like once the war came to a screeching halt?"

For a heartbeat, Cedric was quiet, save for shaking breath as he scrambled to find words.

"...bad," he offered lamely, but it was obvious Jameson wanted more, so the poor man dug deeper, into parts of his mind he would rather not recall. "Really bad...it hit Winnipeg to the north and Wichita to the south, took awhile to get to us but...but we knew. It was like radiation in that old book, about the people in Australia after everyone got nuked? And they're just waiting for the radiation to reach them…"

Still, when he fell still, Jameson just stared blankly ahead, demanding more, never satisfied, and it obviously pained the carrier to continue.

"I...I remember at school, they taught us how to soak sponges in alcohol to make breathing masks, how to use litter to filter water but none of it...it wasn't real. And then everyone, all the girls, they just started dying, like, like Ebola or something? My mom, and my sisters...when half the population dies you can't get rid of all the bodies fast enough, you know, and you'd see people you knew, girls you went to school with, but not them anymore, all blackened and, and not there…"

Next to him, Tomas, his stomach already sensitive even in his second trimester, broke from the group to lunge for a waste basket, heaving violently into it. Eric wondered how much he remembered.

Jameson finally nodded solemnly, not stopping Perry as he reached for Cedric's hand. 

"Half the population dead and literally rotting away in the streets, carriers. Couldn't drink the water, couldn't evade the smell. Old women, newborn babies, it didn't matter. And this thing swept the globe and ended World War 3 after years of hellish fighting. How many of you even know what the war was about now, hm?"

A couple other carriers made half hearted nods, or mumbled a part of a thought, but none seemed committed in their answers. As for the young, it didn't matter. They had been schooled in a dead world.

"Can't recall now, can you? Climate change, holy wars, social revolution, pollution, starvation. Every nation had it's hill to die on and in the end, indeed, we almost did." He paused his footsteps, facing them head on, and smiled. "And then the universe blessed us with you, blessed us with this priceless, truly priceless treasure. You know, so far, only 7% of the population has changed, and only 3% of new babies being born are carriers in womb. That leaves a...a heavy but /holy/ duty upon your brave shoulders. Every baby you carry and birth and nurse and raise is another soul to save us, boys, a gift beyond all measure that we could never repay you for."

The growing tension among the ten standing carriers was palpable, all of them sick of this hypocritical drivel. Precious, priceless, far beyond rubies; that schlock only worked if the Union government reworked the meaning of every one of those words.

Jameson, though, secure in his masculinity, as though sure his age or his rank or his piety kept him from such s fate, seemed to relish his beliefs.

"You carriers are our salvation, and everything we do, no matter how unfair it seems or how frightening, is to keep you safe. You know, in Yemen right now, half of all carriers are being sold, either by their parents or by human traffickers? And in Finland, their birthrates are less than a fifth of ours, with no regulations on family planning. Equatorial countries have little water, little food, from the rising heat, carriers in less fortunate places all over the world die in childbirth at 18, 20, 22. Don't you boys see how /blessed/ you are?"

Eric's eyes shot down to Zion on the floor, welts raising on his thighs and tears drying on his face and wondered how Jameson could possibly call that blessed. 

"You boys carry the world, do you understand that? And if you could only accept this, if you can learn to mind your husbands and enjoy your new role in this world, you would be denied nothing of value! You don't need military careers," here, he patted Zion's head, still cut in the short, almost buzzed style popular with men wanting to shown how much not carrier they were. "You don't need to fret about making money and toiling away for degrees. You get married, you raise your babies, you're loved and looked after and tended to, with full bellies and warm beds. That's a luxury most men around the world could only dream of!"

Immediately Eric thought of Owen, homeless, hungry, barely going to school, rarely seeing a doctor, of his father who loved his sons and tried to protect them and providence them but who couldn't find his place in a post war world. Owen was grateful for his change, even if it scared him. For Owen, it was like Cinderella. Perhaps for him being kept at home barefoot and pregnant but safe and clean and fed was the lesser evil, but not for Eric. Not for Dove, or Perry. Didn't look like for Zion either. 

Scientists spoke often about their work to identify the genes or mutations that caused the change. It's why they gave blood and swabs and DNA samples so often. Jameson called this a blessing; but how many would sign up for compulsory motherhood should they find a way to induce the change? Eric just couldn't envision many officers uniforms in that particular waiting room.

Another snap of the yardstick against the table and they all stood at attention.

"So. Carrier Savoy here will be spending a few days in the infirmary where he can be safely looked after, and we will be patrolling our fences to find his little escape trick. Until then each of you will be paired off with a full time chaperone, to mind you and keep you out if trouble."

Oh no.

"Carriers Tai and Carruthers, with Marin. Montgomery and de la Cruz with Joshua-"

Fuck fuck fuck.

"-with Joaquin, which leaves Lowen and McDaugh with me."

/Fuck/.


	17. And The Devil Knew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of sexual assault

The room dispersed, carriers walking off in pairs with their assigned chaperone, designated to make sure they didn't take advantage of whatever loophole in the system Zion had found.

There was absolutely no way this wasn't going to end badly.

"Well, boys, what did you learn this evening?" Jameson asked, turning towards the two carriers as he slipped the yardstick back behind the desk.

Dove and Eric were silent, sharing a sidelong glance as they both weighed their options. They were...limited at best, considering Captain Jameson had appointed himself their guardian and Eric couldn't help but guess why.

"Ah..sir, I think we're just going to, um, go head to bed," Dove stammered, trying to regain some of his usual composure and control over this situation, but considering that Captain Jameson had just declared himself their guardian for the next god knew how long, there was very little foothold to scramble for.

Indeed, Jameson just raised his chin, peering at the two boys. He was not the most physically imposing man; hell, Dovine was a good 2 inches taller than him, even with his military boots on, but his physique was not what scared them. It was his title, it was his authority, it was his status in their world as somehow being better, more capable, deserving of rulership just because he still had functioning testicles and couldn’t get pregnant. Indignation, always simmering in his belly, started to bubble up into Eric’s chest, confronted with a very real example of just how horrifyingly unfair their entire world had become.

“Shower first,” Jameson said simply, reaching to his belt for his keys so he could lock the classroom door behind them. 

Immediately Dovine and Eric balked, sharing a furtive look towards each other, and Eric clutched the jacket tighter around him, only then realizing that whether he wrapped it tight or cast it off, he was losing. Damn thing even smelled like Jameson’s cologne, not nearly as appealing as the bit of Khariss that still clung to the blouse back in his drawer.

“We’re tired,” Eric argued for them. “It’s late and we have classes in the morning-”

“Tomorrow is Sunday.”

“It’s still late,” Dove argued back, knowing that doing so was tantamount to insubordination, but Jameson seemed entertained, not angry, and just ushered them both out the door.

“No, it’s evening, you both have dry hair so don't tell me you already washed; Eric, I know you were out for the evening, you both go shower, then you’ll go to bed."

Eric’s internal monologue by this point was just a nonstop string of fuckfuckfuckfuck, neither wanting to turn towards the bathroom but neither knowing any way they could get out of this unbeaten. 

Fine, ok...they nodded almost imperceptibly to each other, and walked so close down the hall that they continually bumped shoulders. There were two of them, so that was something. Two of them against Jameson, and it’s not like he carried a gun or a taser or anything. The most he could do was be creepy and stare, right? And they could survive that.

Right?

As expected, Jameson followed them both into the bathroom, taking a right towards the showers. It was unsettling, though, to see a man in there, crossing his arms and leaning oh so casually against the wall, blocking their only exit.

Fighting the revulsion in his stomach, Eric joined Dove at the small bank of cubby hole lockers, his fingers trembling as he struggled to remember his combination and force his body to input the numbers. Once, twice, a third time he failed, the dial just not cooperating. Of course, each failure just stressed him out more, making his hands shake, making him miss again. Finally, Dovine just handed him a washrag and a half empty bottle of vanilla sugar bodywash from his own locker and herded Eric to the showers, joining him in a single stall.

“I like seeing my boys willing to share,” Jameson's voice carried easily through the empty tiled room, and with the metal door between them, both carriers flipped him off, Dove mouthing every swear he knew. 

Eric and Dove stood back from the spray as they started the water and waited for it to heat, and stripped from their clothes. Eric made sure to drag Jameson’s coat through the water before hurling it over the top of the door to land on the dirty floor. Let that fucker have to pay for dry cleaning. Dove pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter, and just having him there helped Eric feel just a little less freaked out.

As satisfied as he could be under such circumstances, they both crowded under the soothing warmth of the shower head and rinsed off, giving just the quickest cursory bites of attention to actually washing. Faces, under the arms, between the legs, rinse, water off, grab towels-

Towels. FUCK. With a matching horror they realized at the same time that they, in their haste, had forgotten towels. Suddenly Eric wished he hadn’t thrown Jamesons jacket so far, though on second thought, the idea of rubbing something of Jameson’s over his naked body was gag inducing.

Well, then, back on went his skirt, he thought, but the material was clingy, hugging his wet contours, and Dove wasn’t faring any better in a tank top and cotton pants.

“Forget something, boys?” Jameson asked from far, FAR too close to the door, and both carriers jumped, Dove letting out a humiliating little yelp like a trodden on toy poodle.

“Ah, um...we’re fine, we just...need to get, uh...oh, towels?” Eric finished up, pressing a daring eye to the crack in the door to see Jameson standing with two folded green towels under his arm. “Could you...pass those over the door?”

“Come out to get them.”

“Are you fucking-!” Dove cried out, slamming both palms furiously on the cold, slick metal door, till Eric grabbed hold of his wrists; this was exactly what Jameson wanted, damn it, for them to lose their shit!

Indeed, on the other side of the door, he could hear the captain give a quiet laugh to himself.

“Come on, boys, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before,” he nearly cood to them, obviously taking great delight in this little taunting game of his.

Shivering, Dove and Eric weighed their options. They absolutely could not stay in that stall for much longer; Jameson would only toy with them for so long before deciding to take a more proactive measure into getting his own way. The locks on these stalls weren’t exactly bank level security after all, and pissing him off didn’t seem like a good option for them right now.

“I...can...I don’t…” but as Dove stammered and struggled for any excuse to buy them more time, Eric couldn't stand the waiting anymore. He’d never been the kind to want to prolong his suffering. Don’t count to 3, just give him the shot. So with a confidence he really didn't feel, Eric turned the little knob and unlatched their door, striding out in a thin, knee length skirt, blonde hair darkened to a brown-sugar tone from the water and sticking to his neck, crossing his arms in front of nonexistent breasts like a good carrier. 

“That’s a good boy,” Jameson cood, handing Eric a towel, which he unfurled and immediately draped over his shoulders. Eric couldn't help but notice that even as Jameson handed one to Dove as well, he gave the older carrier only a quick up and down before his attention, his dark eyes, were back on Eric, obviously having a favorite.

How flattering. 

Actually, yeah, sure, fine, if it kept Jameson’s eyes off of Dovine, then fine, Eric would be the distraction. Back turned towards the captain, he toweled off his chest, his back, his hair, feeling his eyes on him and...well, not putting on a show, no, he couldn't stomach such a thought, but definitely not trying to make himself small or demure. Jameson would get to see what he wanted one way or another and Eric wanted to just get this over and get to bed. 

“Page is a lucky man, Eric,” he told his young charge, and Eric shuttered at how the echo made Jameson’s voice seem to surround him. “Such a beautiful little thing like you, hm? You’re going to make a lovely bride soon.”

Eric’s instinct was to snap back that he wasn’t anyone's anything yet, not Kharis’s or Kyle's, certainly not Jameson's, but another idea came to him, one he hoped was as clever on his lips as it was in his head.

“Yeah, the general’s wonderful,” he said calmly, ruffling his hair out of his towel, letting the damp locks fall. “He seemed pretty pleased with our night out.”

Jameson behind him was quiet, the room tomb-silent before he replied,

“That so, McDaugh? And here I thought you were keeping yourself a pure and precious virgin.”

Good, ruin that fucking fantasy Jameson had. Eric had him pegged; he liked them young, virile, pure and untouched. He wanted to be the one to take their supposed innocence. Fucking fettishistic piece of crap.

“I know a good opportunity when I see one,” Eric shrugged. He bunched the towel up and draped it behind his shoulders, like Owen had done to hide his developing chest, and reached down to gather up his socks and underwear, when a sharp pain struck through his head, his neck snapping back. Jameson had come behind him, wove his fingers into Eric’s half-dried hair, and pulled, disarming the young man and drawing a sharp cry from his throat. Before Eric could react, before Dove could process the scene across the room, the captain’s other hand was between his legs, pulling up his skirt and being none too gentle with his explorations. Eric tried to press back, away from his hand, but two fingers made it between his lips, dry skin dragging painfully against such a new and sensitive place.

“Listen here you little slut,” Jameson hissed into his ear, close enough to feel the stubble of his end of the day shadow. “I can tell you didn’t do anything worthwhile or productive with your little friend Page tonight, but you keep up this attitude of yours and I’ll fix that myself. I’ve had an interest in you since you showed up, huh breed boy? Cute little blonde, pretty as the girls use to be, not all broad shoulders and muscle-”

“Let him go!” Dove screamed out, finally finding his voice among his panic, and while he (smartly) didn’t lay a hand on Jameson, his scream alone was enough to startle the fucker into loosening his grip on Eric, who gathered up his things in trembling hands and they bolted out the door with bare feet and racing hearts. 

Down the halls they sprinted, beads of water flying from their hair, and they didn't slow until they reached their dorm, skidded through the commons room and all but flung themselves into Doves bed. There, in the dark, they lay in silence, breath coming in shallow pants and their pulses hot against each others skin. 

Neither said a word a few minutes later when the door B door opened, or when heavy boot steps stopped right outside their door, the shadow visible under the crack.

"Sleep well, gentlemen, I'll be right outside if you need me."

Eric and Dove didn't say a word to each other all night, nor did they sleep. They only held one another, petting each others hair, grabbing hands. At sunrise, when the early risers alarms next door started to go off, they finally emerged, and headed straight to the infirmary. Not to report Jameson, oh no, such a thing was suicide. Only to tell a nurse they were worried, scared someone could get in the same way Zion got out. Didn't sleep, they told him. Dove showed scratches on his arms he'd made himself, saying he'd done them in the few moments sleep he'd gotten. Nightmares. And Eric used his past "food issues" to say he was too nauseous to tolerate breakfast.

Dove got a 2 hour long psych eval and Eric got put on an oatmeal and broth diet, but they got to spend the day in the infirmary, safe and monitored, so it was worth it.

Besides, the extra attention got Eric extra time with his therapist, and, most importantly, some one on one time with Taylor.

“Oh, Eric,” was all the man sighed when he made his way into Eric’s little corner of the infirmary. By now, almost July, Taylor was very very round and very ready for his maternity leave. Eric didn’t need to be asked, he just scooted over on the bed to make room for his friend. Turning towards him as much as his belly would allow, Taylor smoothed his hands through Eric’s hair, jangling beaded bracelets tinkling merrily in his ear. “How you feeling sweetie? I heard all about what happened with Zion last night.”

“I’m alright...is Zion ok? Can you say?”

Looking over his shoulder with no small amount of apprehension, Taylor hesitated, before nodding slowly.

“He’s ok,” he whispered. “But he’s going to be on a lot of restrictions now...the poor man, this isn’t easy for him.”

“Not easy for any of us,” Eric pointed out in an equally small voice. “But he’s not gonna be, like, shot or anything right?”

“Jesus Eric, who told you something like that?” Taylor sighed. “Zion will just need some extra time to deal with what’s happening to him, but he’s safe, that’s all I can say. But Zion isn’t in my dorm and you two are, but Dove looks like he’s entered a mild coma, so you’re my only informant, Carrier McDaugh.”

His tone was teasing, but the title made Eric’s skin crawl, and he tried with no small amount of effort to not shiver.

“We’re fine. It was just...it was the sirens, and how freaked out the older guys were, and we couldn't sleep, and all the docs freak out because they still think I’m a risk for an eating disorder or some shit-”

“I heard Jameson was your chaperone.”

Eric didn’t even know how he managed to hear Taylor, with his voice so soft, scared for listening ears at every turn. A wise neurosis. 

Wordless, Eric nodded, but looked pointedly away.

He wanted to tell Taylor. He wanted to tell his shrink too, his doctor, his dad. The way Jameson could so easily overpower him, how he had no respect for Eric’s body besides that of a plaything, a pretty object, like a crystal hung from a sunlit window, casting rainbows across the room...this was just a taste of the horror stories he had been told since before he even changed, yet they had seemed so far away. Tragedies happen to other people, tumors grow in the bodies of other men, a strangers car crashes off the highway, but not your own, never your own. Yet still he knew, it could have been so much worse, and that he could tell no one. What good would it do? Jameson was a man, and according to the law, Eric was neither man or woman, and thus he had no precedent for his sex’s laws or rights. An anomaly, magic, a blessing from the gods. 

Eve was given to Adam for his benefit and so, some said, carriers were given to man now, to be ruled over and used.

“I’m fine,” he said, still looking down at the speckled tile floor. “I’m ok, Taylor, we’re both ok.”

Next to him, Taylor's hand reached up to his back, rubbing in small circles. Eric couldn't tell him, but he didn’t need to. Most carriers, if not nearly all of them, could surely understand, but none of them had the power to speak it. In this world, kidnapping was theft, assault was destruction of property, rape was a wedding.

He leaned his head against Taylor’s shoulder, feeling his silk blouse beneath his cheek. It was a pretty thing, white, with bright embroidered flowers along a square collar. He’d have to ask Taylor where he bought his maternity clothes someday, for future reference.

“Taylor? Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, baby,” he assured him, still rubbing his back, letting his nails scritch between his shoulder blades.

Gathering his nerve, but still unable to look up, Eric said, “Are you happy, Taylor?”

“I am,” came his reply, quicker than Eric had expected, and Eric had to close his eyes and bite his tongue from calling bullshit. No, no, he needed to be quiet now, he needed to listen.

“I’m happy, Eric, ok? I am. Kim is a kind man, and I’m looking forward to my second baby next month.”

“Ok but. What about before? Were you happy before?”

“Before I changed, sweetie?”

He nodded, savoring the silk against his cheek.

“Cause...Owen? He was miserable before, you know? He was hungry, and really poor, so Teagan’s good for him, you know? He knows he’ll never be homeless...but I was happy, Tay. I had my dad and brother, and yeah our house was shitty but it kept us dry. I was gonna graduate...I had friends, I had some boyfriends...if someone was happy when they were free, can they ever be happy after they change?”

“...Oh Eric, baby,” Taylor sighed, and his arms were heavy but warm around him. “You can sweetie. I was happy before too. I was in the military, air force. There’s no feeling like flying, Eric, and God do I miss that...and when I changed, nobody understood. It had only been in the news for a few weeks, I was so terrified...but we have to mourn, we have to cry, and then we have to move on because we literally can't change back.”

“But why can’t the world change, Taylor?” Eric needed to know, his voice raising sharply. He cringed, not liking his own noise. “Why can’t it? Why can’t they leave us alone? Why can’t we, you know, we can protest, we can do marches like they use to to make shit change?”

“...some have, Eric, some have. And it hasn’t ended well. And I’m sure more will, and I hope it goes better...Eric you listen to me real close right now ok? Really listen?”

Eric nodded.

“I hope things can change. And I want to believe someday they will, that we can date like we used to, that we’ll be able to have more freedom, that we can move how we wish, make choices over our own bodies even...but the Union is teetering on such a brink right now, and we are a far smaller minority to men now than women were 2 decades ago. This isn’t a 50/50 split, and right now, protest is suicide, baby boy, and I don’t want that for you. For any of you. All we can do, honey, is raise up our babies to be good men, loving, respectful men, who will look to their carrier mothers with adoration, then someday to their wives, and balk at the idea of treating them the way their mothers were treated.”

“...so you’re saying, then, that our lives are shit, might as well have 10 kids and hope they don’t make the same mistakes as us.”

Taylor let out a small laugh, and turned to kiss Eric’s cheek.

“Something like that, maybe. I don't...I don't want to tell you to not fight. Hell, some days, I feel like a coward, and maybe I am, or maybe I'm a realist who doesn't want to die...I know it isn’t what you want to hear, so I’ll tell you this next; I’m happy. I am. Kim is kind to me, Tori is a blessing, and so will this little guy. And maybe...maybe after he’s born, I won’t have as much time for the CEC, maybe I’ll have to give this up, but I’m alive, and I’m safe, and I have a kind husband where so many aren’t even that fortunate... I'm sorry, I know it's a shit answer, but-"

"But it's a shit world, Taylor."

Last night, in Eric’s chest, the injustice of this worlds way of being sloshed around like acid, boiling away at his ribs and lungs and heart. But now, at Taylor’s words, it filled with a far different kind of heat, softer but still scalding, the kind that reached behind his eyes and threatened to leak out and spill down his cheeks.

Trembling, Eric turned towards his friend and wrapped his arms around him, giving him as hard of a squeeze as he dared, and let his left arm dip down to just barely rest along the top of Taylor’s belly, afraid to get too close, afraid of hurting him, or the baby, or some irrational fear that it might be contagious.

“Taylor?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“Hm?”

“Can you call Kharis for me? I wanna- I need to talk to him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eric and Taylor's discussion of assault is an unfortunate truth of their world and do not reflect my own views of what should be done


	18. Song And Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here yall go.
> 
> Also thanks for everyone who pointed out the formatting issues! I think I've fixed them, I'm honestly not sure what went wrong

Kharis was able to meet for a Sunday afternoon date, which Eric showed up to in Stillwater sweats and one of Dove's tank tops. Fretfully, Taylor had asked if he might want to put on something prettier, but Eric couldn't be assed, citing his previous opinion that any man who expected Eric to carry and birth children for him better get fucking use to him looking like a hot mess. He'd told Taylor to tell Kharis to dress comfortably too, as this was going to take a while.

Well, comfortable to Kharis was jeans and a polo shirt, the sleeves just short enough to show the edge of a tattoo on his upper arm, which immediately stirred up Eric's curiosity, but that wasn't the time, no matter how much Eric wanted to see nor how much he wanted to stall. Honestly he hadn't felt like this since February, when he packed his bag and walked down the road to the Stillwater CEC to turn himself in. Wired up, heart quick, mind going between panic and completely shutting down, numbing him to reality. God, that sounded so tempting right now, and he wished for it, he urged his brain to short circuit as he crossed the room. He wanted his heart to go cold and to just run the afternoon on autopilot, let a detached logic make this choice-

"You look cute, Eric."

Shit. Well. Fuck that. Fine, this wasn't something he wanted to do with a foggy mind anyway. His entire future was balancing precariously in front of him and he needed to mind every footfall.

He said nothing back to Kharis about his own appearance, merely flung himself onto the offered chair, waited for Kharis to sit down across from him and, before Kharis could even get a word out, Eric slammed a composition notebook onto the table, rifled it open, pen out.

"So why the fuck should I marry you?"

Surprise registered across Khariss face for a moment, eyes widening and his lips parting just a bit, but the general was quick to collect himself. He eyed the open notebook before Eric, scrawled with volume and headers, room to write. 

"Ah, so we're doing this the proper way?" He quipped, and reached into his back pocket to pull out his phone. Making the screen easily visible to Eric, he opened a recording app, pressed the red circle, and placed it on the table between them. 

Eric grinned, and clicked his pen. 

"Alright. Why should I marry you?"

"Well I guess first and foremost, you have to marry someone and I'm probably as good as anyone else."

"That's a shit reason."

Kharis chuckled, breaking the tension just a little. "You're right, it is. Alright well, on the side of practicality, I think my rank speaks for my responsibility to oversee myself as well as a wife and children. As for my salary-"

Eric turned his notebook over and withdrew from a pocket Kharis's file, now highlighted and starred.

"190 a year huh? That's not nothing," Eric nodded, jotting the number down in his journal.

"No, it certainly isn't. I enjoy nice things, good food, but I don't spend compulsively. I have a sizable savings account and retirement benefits lined up. I hope to retire by 55 if plans go my way."

"Are you in active enlistment?"

"No," he replied, looking up behind Eric, and they paused just long enough to accept the crackers, cheese and bits of salty meat offered for their date.

"Thank you. No, actually, about 3 years ago I was in an accident. I was installing new software at the state capital and their generator went nuts. Hasn't updated the damn thing since the war. Got burned bad enough across my back and one leg to be taken from the draft list, so I suppose you can count that as another benefit, you won't be a war widow."

"You gonna die young?"

"Hope not," he chuckled, but shook his head. "No, no. I get pains in the winter, in the cold, can't run like I use to, some mild breathing problems from the smoke, but nothing that you ought to worry about."

Eric nodded, writing furiously with smooth, black ink.

"Ok, what about your family? You have like 29 brothers, are they safe around me?"

He expected to see hurt or offense at having insinuated something untoward about his family, but Kharis nodded.

"They are, they're good men. Of course I cannot pretend to know all my brothers inner thoughts; I would rather not leave you alone with them for that reason, save for Jamal and his wife. "

"Wife?"

"My older brother has a carrier bride, and one child, just 3 weeks old," Kharis beamed, and with a budding smile he reached for this phone, and brought up a photo to show Eric.

"Isn't be darling?"

Eric took the phone, bringing it closer to see. Kharis's brother shared a remarkable resemblance, his own hair cut short though, and next to him sat a pretty carrier, honey colored skin and a cute, flat nose. He wore a patterned scarf over his hair, the edges draping down to where he held the tiniest living human Eric had ever seen, all pinched cheeks and dark lashes and black tufts of hair.

"He is...Jesus he's too small. "

"It's unreal, isn't it? My youngest brother is 22, and I don't remember him ever being so little."

Eric stared from the baby up to his smiling parents, proud to show their tiny newborn. 

"Your brother and his wife, are they uh...is your family…?"

"I'm irreligious," Kharis guessed his query. "We were raised Muslim, and a few brothers still are, but it's hard to keep a faith after seeing the aftermath of the war. I don't attend any place or worship and don't intend to bring children up that way either."

Nodding, Eric licked a finger and flipped ahead to fill in another area.

"Ok, kids then. How many do you want?"

Here, Khariss face turned both far off and thoughtful, and he picked at a few crackers on his plate

"I should think that 4 or five is a large, rounded family," he began with caution, and Eric had to wave his pen in circles to try to eek more out of him.

He sighed, taking another bite of cracker and ham.

"It's only up to us to a certain degree, Eric. How...how much have they taught you in your classes, about population control policies?"

Not wanting to admit that he really hasn't been paying too terribly much attention to most of his lectures on carrier law, he shrugged noncommittally.

"Not much…"

"Doesn't surprise me. Ok, well, quick version, Eric, after your wedding day, whatever man you marry, you'll have to show up to appointments every other month, and if you don't pass a pregnancy test, they'll make note and wish you better luck next time. At 10 months, they'll start pressing you to take vitamins and supplements. At a year, you'll get counseling about fertility and being open to children and all that. And, if you haven't conceived within 18 months, you'll be taken from your husband and given to another man to be bred."

A bite halfway to his mouth, Eric froze, this talk stirring up half buried memories of Perry having a crying breakdown after class one day, suddenly scared that he WOULDN'T be able to have babies. Eric hasn't listened much, Perry was super emotional, but now he was beating himself. 

"I...I see...but that's better than marrying someone who would try to get me pregnant on my wedding night. Or before," he said pointedly, eyeing Kharis with suspicion.

His date held up both hands in surrender. "I wouldn't even attempt it until you were ready, Eric, or any carrier I should marry. It just needs to be known what is expected by law. A pregnancy within 18 months, and no more than 2 years between. For now. "

"...but we're only on year 5 after men began changing" Eric continued slowly, picking up the thread. "and who knows when they'll demand more?"

Kharis nodded solemnly. "I need you to know Eric I would never force you into anything. Not bed, not babies, but that what you and I do or don't do within our home still shows publically, and choices are not only our own."

Eric tapped his pen against his paper, thinking this through. So even if he and Kharis decided they didn't want more children, who knew what policies they could pass later on?

"Your...your rank?" He prompted hopefully, and Kharis nodded.

"It can probably buy us time. It worked for Taylor, after all. They'd actually been given an extension, another 6 months, but the bastards already got pregnant!"

Eric needed that laugh, that little moment of brevity, because leave it to bubbly little Taylor and the husband he couldn't keep his hands off of to get knocked up when they didn't have to!

"Well that's their fucking luck...so if Taylor's husband works in population and Taylor actually gets to have some control over his uterus, does that mean that working in security, our house is gonna be, like, rigged up like a diamond display in a crime movie?" Eric laughed, but oh, Kharis did not laugh back.

"With a new bride and babies at home? Dann right."

….ok fair.

"So...so you're saying," Eric said, awkwardly having to veer their conversation back, "that even if I got the population police breathing down my back, you won't make me?"

Kharis nodded slowly.

"By all means, it would hurt me to lose you, Eric, but it would pain me more to know I forced you to bed without your consent. There's a fucking name for that."

Yeah, Eric knew that, but nobody in power had the fucking nerve to call it by name.

Turning his face down to hide the flush, he rifled through his book, page after page filled with questions, categories, things to know. It had been Taylor's idea, honestly, and he spent the morning with Eric and a semi conscious Dove, helping them write down everything they could possibly need to know about a man who wanted to give them his last name.

He stopped at a page Taylor had marked with large (neon, of course) stars.

"Well ok...um...what about, like…"

"Hm?"

"...you know. The way you get babies."

Kharis snorted, shaking his head, and his tight coils of hair tickled his cheeks; Eric tried to be very covert about crossing his legs under the table.

"Eric, sweetie, if you're going to be married soon I think it's time you at least get comfortable using the word 'sex'."

Eric knew his face was turning crimson, but he tried to sit straight and act like the adult society said he had to be.

"Yeah, sex."

"And what about it?" Kharis asked, reaching for his glass of lemonade; something about the grin on his lips told Eric he was trying hard not to make some off color remark.

"Um...well, I guess we should talk about what we expect, you know? What you like and...stuff…"

Eric absolutely did not want to do this but Taylor swore it was of utmost importance and his marriage absolutely depended on it. And sure. Taylor was known for being dramatic and over enthusiastic, but he seemed dead serious for once.

"Ok, well, obviously sex is implied as a necessity if were going to have children," Kharis began slowly, keeping a careful watch on Eric. "And I would enjoy frequent sex, but I'm a grown man and can take care of my own needs if my partner isn't in the mood. I won't lie though, I would enjoy being intimate with my wife at least a couple times a week."

Face aflame, Eric nodded, hoping he could read his own handwriting. 

"That...that sounds reasonable...I don't...uh, I don't know, for me? It's...hard thinking about sex, since the change."

"I...can't even imagine," Kharis admitted, looking equal parts pitying, curious and apprehensive. Eric couldn't blame him, he supposed, for his curiosity at least.

"Yeah, uh...it's...hard to feel comfortable in your own body? Cause like...after you change, everyone's touching you, and looking at you...it's like your body isn't even yours…" his mouth went dry as he searched for his words; he reached for his own glass, desperate to wet his throat. "Um...our counselors say we should...like, take time alone? To try and find what's good for us again?"

"...and have you?" Kharis asked him and, bless him, he kept his voice as calm and low as he could, as though sensing how much Eric feared that open door and their guard, even if Josh was way too busy fucking around on his phone...actually bless him too.

"...not really," the carrier admitted. Beads of condensation collected on the outside of his glass, running down into a stream as he drug a dinger across it. "I mean, I've tried a little, we all do, but it feels so different...if...if I married you, you'd be patient, right? Maybe help me? Like, um! Um, Owen? He says he likes having baths with his husband, washing each other. Says it helped, especially since hes, you know," and here Eric held his arms vaguely out in front of him, "like, super pregnant? So he's got all those changes on top of change changes and it's so gross because Teagan's like 50, but he says it helps so-!"

"Eric you're going to choke on your own tongue if you keep that up," Kharis warned. "It's alright, I know you're nervous. Honestly that sounds like a wonderful idea, for more reasons than one."

Fucking bastard, Eric knew he knew this sort of conversation was getting to him! Just because Kharis was a gentleman, it seemed, didn't mean he wasn't ready to fuck with his potential wife a bit.

Jesus.

Fine. Eric was more than done with this topic now, and flipped another page so quick it tore along the rings.

"Shit, fuck-! Ok, um...kids. after they're, like, out of me-"

"I believe the word is born?"

Eric kicked him. Under the table, barefoot, hardly enough to hurt, but he kicked him in the shin.

"Ow! Did you just-?"

"Don't be catty! Yea, born! I mean, what do you want to do with the kids?"

"I mean I think society frowns on selling them to the zoo-"

"Kharis!"

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" Christ he had the cutest laugh. "Well, I can afford private school for them, military school when they're older if they want-"

"And what if I give you a carrier son?"

"Well first of all its highly unlikely, " Kharis said, but he leaned back into his chair to consider the possibility. "But I would love him no less nor differently than a male son, that's not even a part of the question, I hope...if they're born carriers, then I would prefer to school them at home, for safetys sake."

Eric scoffed, his pen gliding over the paper. "Like he'd be allowed to enroll in school anyway?"

"Well, by then there might be enough carrier children for their own schools, their own classes. We can't plan for that, until we know what the world will be like then. But he will get the best education we can possibly give him. If you birth a son who changes later in life, then I know you will help me get them through it. At the very least, by then, he'll be born into a world where the change is normal."

"Well...I guess, yeah," Eric sighed. He downed the last of his lemonade, held his glass over his head and asked Josh for another, or a water...or soda if he could sneak it. Josh was a decent guy...as far as guards went, at least. He let the carriers get away with just about anything that wasn't dangerous, and could be wheedled for candy or other junk food. Oh, and as far as he knew he'd never struck, hit, or molested a carrier so that was good. 

Back and forth they went for the next hour, Eric digging out every detail he could. do you believe in marital discipline? Can I keep a job? What if I want a divorce? (the answers being, I don't beat carriers dammit, yes, and we can discuss a prenup should you agree to marry me) till finally Eric came to the last filled page in his notebook . 

"Ok, Kharis Page. Why SHOULDN'T I marry you?"

Good god the look on his face was beautiful and Eric fought to keep his own features together. Obviously taken aback, Kharis let out a quick little cough, running a hand back through his thick hair.

"...huh. that's...a really good question actually. "

"Does it have a good answer?"

Kharis rocked his chair back again, balancing for a moment on two legs, staring at the popcorn ceiling.

"Alright...alright. ok. Well first I hold myself to high standards and will probably expect my wife to hold himself to high standards."

"Elaborate," Eric drawled slowly, and Kharis laughed again, but there was a nervousness to it 

"Well, I hold a position of great authority and esteem, and with it come many benefits and bonuses, but it's a high upkeep public show. I need to be neat and tidy and scandal free to retain those perks and, in public at least, my wife would need to be willing to play the good, feminine, submissive carrier. Quiet, demure, pretty. I do not believe in slapping or hitting my wife for any reason but I also will not be shamed in public, and I am absolutely not above sitting your ass down for a calming moment. You act like a child and you'll be treated like one."

Choosing pointedly to aknowledge only the easiest part of that speech, Eric groused, "I'll have to actually buy a fancy dress won't I?"

"Several, probably, and you'd look stunning. "

Ass.

"My work is also a priority for me, and I'm rather addicted to it. I put a lot of stress into it, as my division keeps us safe. A couple times a year I'll be away for the better part of two weeks doing upkeep on protocols around the Union, training soldiers in evacuations and shelters and security walls. I imagine that will be trying on my wife once children start coming."

"Tell me more."

Kharis's dark eyes flickered over Eric as though putting serious consideration into pouring his can of pop over his head. Lucky for him, he thought better.

"More reasons I would make a shit husband, ok...I can't cook for shit. I can get myself fed but it's rarely anything appealing, so I would expect my wife, if he has no other homemaking skills, to at least be able to keep the family fed. Speaking of family, mine is large, and opinionated, not all of those opinions I agree with. My brother doesn't make his wife cover his hair but there is a social expectation within some branches of the family tree and depending on the occasion, who is in attendance, and what level of drama I can tolerate I may occasionally ask you to do the same."

Ok, that didn't sound like the worst. 

"And last, I suppose, is that I honestly have no idea how to be a husband or a father." Kharis murmured this like a holy confession, still studying the ceiling, and Eric watched the vein pulse along his neck. "Say what you want about Teagan, but he had a wife, so he knows how to work in a marriage, and he has children he raised. He's been through this before, whereas you and I, we'd be going in blind. I have no idea how to tend a baby or change them, I don't know how to settle a fight with my bride or deal with hormones when you're pregnant. The idea of seeing a child born is more than a little terrifying -"

"How the fuck do you think I feel??"

"- and by all accounts I could fuck you and our kids up entirely. But I probably won't, and not on purpose...I like you, Eric McDaugh, and should we marry, I know I'll grow to love you, and our babies, and so hope at the least you could be fond of me."

Eric joined Kharis in his ceiling gazing, all the little lumps and crevices, crooked shadows and bits of light. A discount night sky for those who hadn't seen the real thing.

"I'm already fond of you, Kharis," Eric told the ceiling out loud, and the ceiling pondered his words before sending more back.

"I'm quite fond of you too, Eric...so. Did I pass?"

With a slow sigh, Eric's brown eyes slipped closed, and as the dark shaded his vision, loops and swirls of color blossomed. Oranges and greens and weird grays. Once, when he was little, he was playing in the dark, telling ghost stories with Daniel, and he was looking right at the lamp when they flicked it back on, his eyes suddenly aswim with those shapes and squiggles. Screaming like a banshee, Eric had ran from the room to find his dad, crying about ghosts and begging to sleep in Dads bed that night...god, to be that little again for just a few hours-!

"That...that's not the question you're suppose to ask me," Eric breathed, and with the might of the gods he pulled his head back down, looking Kharis square in the face. "Ask me what you really want to know. "

Major General Kharis Page looked like he couldn't tell his left hand from his right for a moment, both fluttering anxiously around his glass, onto the table, looking for anything to grab onto, and finally, reaching across the table, they found purchase with one of Eric's own.

"Eric, would you marry me?"

Kharis's hands were rough on the palms, just as he expected a soldiers to be, and really warm. His thumb stroked over the back of Eric's, slow circles that betrayed an otherwise hidden anxiety.

Eyes closed, more colors erupted, seeming to swim erratically as his pulse quickened, and magnified by the threatening burn of tears. Twice, Eric opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't find his voice; it eluded him, hiding behind soccer posters and water stains and a raggedy plush bunny. It ran away and left in its wake the promise of a future Eric McDaugh could never have 

"I...yeah. yeah, I'll marry you," he finally managed to get out, that one sentence stealing all the air from his lungs till it felt like his sternum was rubbing his spine. Before Kharis could celebrate too openly, though, he continued, "but first, before we do all the paperwork and shit? We gotta do a few things."

"Anything," Kharis answered quickly, and through his racing heartbeat Eric had to smile a little.

"First of all, I have another da...uh, I need to see this other guy this afternoon, someone else I've been seeing. He deserves closure, you know?"

"That's fair," Kharis agreed easily, and Eric noticed he still hasn't let go of his hands.

"Second, I want you to come back for dinner. Tonight, to make it official. I don't need a ring or anything, just, like, paperwork and shit that says we formally intend to marry. I know it's short notice!" He tacked on, worried Kharis might find reason to say no, "but I'lI...I i need to make this official as soon as possible. Please."

Kharis eyed him carefully, then peered up at the guard, who was still very busy not paying attention.

"Eric...sure, I can come back, but...are you alright? You've been so cautious until now-"

"It's nothing, I just.. I need to have it on paper, and like, once we both sign, then it's ok right? Like, we can decide to call it off but no one else can?"

Growing more and more hesitant, Kharis nodded again. "Yes, but-"

"And even if another guy wanted me or knocked me up, since I technically belong to you he wouldn't get to have me right?"

"Eric, I- yes, you and the baby would legally belong to me but I don't like to-"

"Ok great!" Eric gushed, nearly clenching his fiance's hand, who nodded slowly. Maybe he wouldn't push this now, but Kharis wasn't fucking stupid and Eric knew he'd be poking him about this. But that was a future Eric problem; current Eric was just glad he had some form of insurance to know he wouldn't be forced to become Mrs. Jameson.

"Ok and number three!" Eric's grin turned a bit teasing, bordering malicious as he told his new fiance, "You have to tell my dad we're getting married."

Eric really thought he could get use to being able to make Kharis's face implode like that. 

"...ok...me, though? He's your father, Eric, you should...and it isn't as though you need his permission-"

"Oh I know!" Eric said brightly, and gave Kharis's hand a squeeze back. "I already said yes, his opinion doesn't matter. But I already have to go dump someone, and I just want to imagine the look on my dad's face when a general shows up at his door asking to marry his teenage son."


	19. Rising Tides

Jesus Christ Eric didn't wanna do this. He'd only ever dumped one guy, and they were like 13 and their relationship had involved like 3 movies in Eric's basement and a shared soda. They'd barely even held hands. And sure, he hadn't even hugged Kyle yet, but the timeframe and expectations of CEC mandated courtship pretty much labeled their four dates as being Pretty Serious. 

All in all this was the last thing Eric wanted to do, but he wasn't gonna just ghost the sonofabitch. Kyle was fine, he was nice enough to him, but Jameson's suffocating presence was becoming too much, and Eric needed the security of a fiance. It was between Kharis and Kyle and it was a straightforward choice. All the same, he'd have a nice dinner with him, let him down gently. He'd even wash up and put on real clothes too! Not a skirt or makeup or anything though, no use getting him all excited for nothing.

"So you really gonna cut him off huh?" Dove asked, washing his own face of the mascara and blush hed worn for his lunch date. "Pity, he seems nice. Falling for Kharis finally?"

Eric just scoffed, smoothing his shirt down over the top of his jeans, running his hands over the widening curve from his waist to his hips; he was started to get use to that, at least.

"Hardly, I just...its been 4 dates and I can't see myself even making out with him, let alone getting married or having his kids." Eric had decided to not tell Dove just yet, not until that night after he'd put his name on a piece of paper. It was just too much, too scary and felt too precarious. It was a delicate little tuft of down, subject to the passions and will of the wind. Deep in his chest, his heart fluttered pitifully just thinking about what could happen if this fell through. If he was engaged, he was safe...he was property, but safe property at least, and could put Jameson out of his mind just a little longer. 

"So how did yours go?" He asked, on what he hoped was a nice smooth diversion of attention away from him.

Dove shook his head making a sour face in the mirror. "Second date, didn't go as good as the first," he replied, digging through his bathroom pouch. "Another who can't wait to have a little Mrs. waiting for him at home, pregnant belly and another sitting on his hip."

"Isn't that what they all want?" Eric asked gently.

"Yeah but he doesn't have to be so blunt about it!"

Eric offered a wan smile to his friend in the bathroom mirror, combing through his own hair. "Whatever happened to, settle for a guy who doesn't beat you?"

"...I know," Doves voice was far off. "It's just, I've got like 12 weeks to get married...I actually called up one of my early dates? One I passed up cause I thought I had so much time? Already married."

"Bastard."

"I know right now dare he??"

Dove sighed, wetting another cotton pad with mineral oil and swiping it over his eyelid. Black makeup smeared off, leaving a bluish stain behind on his near -white lashes.

"I guess he wasn’t too bad...He’s old money, daddy put wind turbines in from Austin to KC back before the war, so he got filthy rich after the oil industry went belly up. Travels a lot, might not see him too much. Or he might drag me along, till the babies start showing up at least. Kinda smug, but they all are."

Over and over he rubbed over his eye, but that stain of blue -black liner just wouldn't let go of his pale skin.

“You know, I came here fighting it tooth and nail and now I'm looking at bridal blogs and baby clothes and I can never decide if I'm excited or terrified! And that should be an easy choice, I should be terrified!" 

Eric nodded slowly, combing through the same piece of hair over and over again. Yeah, he got it. In the nearly six months he'd been at Stillwater, he'd seen most of the older boys go through that. Thoughtfully, he wondered if it was a mercy, a way their minds tricked them into accepting this hell world with a bit more dignity, forcing them to gloss over the painful, frightening things and think about nice new houses and good food and a big party instead. Fucking traitorous piece of shit brain. Eric saw it in so many men but assumed he would never fall for it.

Well. Fucking jokes on him. He leaned sideways, bumping his hip against Doves playfully, eeking out a half hearted smile from the older carrier.

"I'm ok, Er. Just trying to deal right now."

"Aren't we all?"

)))(((

Guilt ate at Eric's stomach as soon as he reached the door, and was greeted by Kyle's usual chipper, upbeat attitude, telling him he looked so pretty, he was glad to see him again, offering new pictures of Cantaloupe. Eric pulled out every skill he’d learned from his fifth grade drama class (he'd been a rather excellent lost boy, thank you very much) to keep his demeanor calm and his smile in place. Keep being the perfect, sweet little carrier boy.

"So do you still keep up classes even though it's summer now?" He asked kindly, cutting into his piece of chicken parmesan.

"Some, yeah, just stuff like sewing and cooking, homemaking skills mostly, you know? Never thought I'd miss going to real classes."

"That's kinda dumb," Kyle snorted, and then, wide eyed, hurried to correct, "nono, not that you miss school, but that like, they don't teach you stuff like that? You're only 17, you should still be learning that kind of stuff alongside house stuff and babies, I think."

God this would be so much easier if Kyle wasn't a decent guy. He actually seemed so earnest in his outdated, liberal convictions, like he really believed them and wasn't just saying this shit to make Eric happy. Unless he was a stellar liar, which was always a possibility. 

"Yeah, well, whatever collection of government bigwigs who plan out the CEC curriculum doesn't seem to agree."

"Well yeah all those guys are like my dad's age," Kyle said, leaning closer over the table towards his date, who instinctively did the same. "If you ask me, all a lot of that is, is old guys still wanting to play pretend, like the last 18 years didn't happen, you know? Like yeah, we need to raise up some large families if we wanna still be around in 40 or 50 years but who wants a bunch of uneducated idiots raising their babies? Oh, not...not that you're stupid, Eric!"

“You have such a way with words,” Eric teased, and stuck his tongue out playfully, hoping it wasn't too taunting or could somehow be read as too flirtatious. Shit, actually, everything was flirtatious to some of these guys, who seemed to think they were owed a carrier on their arms. The last thing he wanted was to lead Kyle on, and the second to last thing he wanted to do was to leave him without any compassion. It was a tenuous tightrope walk, especially since Kyle, like any man who got this far with a carrier, was speaking in the terms of "if we marry." "I would love to take you out for a real dinner some night Eric; there will be so much more freedom to get to know one another if we marry." "If we marry, we could start a little garden out in the yard." "I should like a house with trees, space for the kids to play around, if we marry." Of course this was the goal of all carriers, whether they wanted it or not, and such words were thought to be terribly romantic by their courting men, but it didn't make it easier to take.

It also didn't make it any easier for Eric to figure out how to get the words out. In actuality, Kyle was easy going and it was freeing to talk to him, so it was easy to pass their date time, but on the other side it was easy to grab for a distraction and avoid the hard part.

Dessert was rarely anything indulgent, not with the carriers on such strict diets, but it was summer now, and they has fresh strawberries and plums and, laughably, cantaloupe.

"Don't you ever feel bad eating it?" Eric asked him, picking the greens off a dark strawberry.

Kyle speared a chunk of orange melon on the end of his fork, examining it with a dread expression.

"A bit. Makes me glad I didn't name him Fried Chicken or Brownie."

"I would kill for a brownie right now," Eric groaned, the fruit seeming suddenly quite inadequate.

Kyle laughed, popping the bite of cantaloupe into his mouth, obviously over his small existential crisis. "Perhaps next time I can sneak you out for real food, something sinful they'd never let you have."

Shit. That was both enticing, and earnestly sweet. Why couldn't he be showing his true colors by now and share some unfortunate views about marital discipline or some shit, make this easier?!

"Ahm...that does sound really good, Kyle, it does…" he started, and picked up another berry, picking off each leaf one by one.

Kyle stopped mid chew, looked quietly across the table at Eric, then hurriedly swallowed his bite, smiling too broadly.

"But what, don't think the warden would allow it?" He joked, trying to break the tension. Eric longed to laugh with him, to just brush aside an awkward blip in a date, but he'd be seeing Kharis again in, like, 45 minutes and this was not gonna go any other way.

A nice little pile of green stacking up, he shook his head slowly.

"No...no it isn't that, uh...listen, Kyle? You're really sweet...more than most of the guys I've dated since I got here, you know?"

Kyle too seemed to be the sort to fidget when he was nervous, and he pushed a pink slice of watermelon around on his plate, leaving a sticky little puddle behind it.

"Yeah? ...thanks, Eric. I know what kind of, you know, shit can go on? So I'm glad for that."

"Yesh, yeah, you are...but I've sorta...I’m really sorry, but here, we have to make so many decisions so fast, and they aren't easy-"

"Hey, no, no it's ok...I'm not the one you're gonna marry, huh?"

Behind his copper freckles, his light skin turned a shade of pink to match his watermelon, and Eric's belly seized with guilt. Part of him wanted to just about that he was kidding, just kidding, and make another date, but that was just the unevolved monkey part of his brain that wanted to avoid all signs of suffering. He was...well for all intents and purposes he was an engaged carrier now, a monogamous one, and needed to act like it.

"I...I’m really sorry, I am, because you're really sweet and really nice-"

Down the hall there came the clatter of dishes being stacked together, and chatter start to pick up. Shit, dinner was about over with, meaning there was gonna be a hallway full of curious, bored carriers who always loved to try and sneak a peek into the open door of the little date nooks. Assholes, Eric thought, though he was among them.

"- and I'm not just saying that to be nice, this really sucks to have to do-"

"Tell me about it,"

"- but you're a good guy and I know if you're still interested in a wife, you'll find one. It's just...not me."

Kyle nodded slowly, still mostly looking down at his plate, cheeks red, and it occurred to Eric that more than angry or bitter. Kyle was embarrassed, and it showed in the wavering smile he offered Eric

"Naw, and I get it, I do," he assured Eric in a tone that betrayed that he might logically Get It but was still more than s little unhappy about it. "I mean, I know how things work here, and young and cute as you are I'm sure you have a lot of options. I just hope you take care of yourself, alright?"

Eric opened his mouth dumbly, looking for words, though his little squeaks and half utterances were drown out by footsteps and hip checks and boys racing each other. Drawn by the noise, Eric cast a quick look behind him, turned back yo Kyle, but immediately looked back again.

"Hold on!" He implored his ex boyfriend type person, "just...I promise, hold on ten seconds, please don't bolt, I will be right back!"

Eric didn't wait for a confirmation as he slid out the door, shoes catching on the carpet, and sprinted down after the group like he’d ran track in high school. He plowed through the other carriers, grabbed hold of his prize and drug it back, flailing and bitching, to the dining room, where Kyle sat, still blushing, still stunned. 

Panting, Eric stood at the doorway, beaming.

"Hey, Kyle, I dunno how long you've been dating around but have you met my friend Dove?"

)))(((

Filing the paperwork for an engagement was almost as romantic as the rapid fire required dating they were forced into. Almost. He and Kharis sat down in Dr. Sworenson's office, reading over contracts, signing, dating, initialling. Kharis, it seemed, had a far larger file to get through and Eric wasn't sure how what to think about that. It's not like he wanted to sit and sign more shit, but out seemed to speak again to the fact that in all of this, the carrier was seen as an object to pass from one owner to another. So he sat quietly as he finished his last few, his name on ink to acknowledge he understood this was only an intent to marry and not a legally binding marriage contract, licence or certificate, and then eyed Kharis as he did his own. It was surreal, to think that within the next 6 months, he'd be marrying this fucker, swapping I Dos and rings and a kiss, and within a couple more he'd be pregnant by him, and then a mother -

"Eric darling, you alright? You're looking pale," Kharis noted with concern, peering into his face between files. 

Eric shook his head, tucking his growing hair behind his ear.

"No, just...it's a lot right now is all? It's been a rough 24 hours…"

God, something in Eric wanted so badly to tell Kharis about Jameson, what had happened last night, but the thought was stifling, speaking would take far too much effort. He was not ready for this conversation. Besides, his shrink was literally right there, and he wasn’t ready for marriage counseling yet.

"...I know baby, I know this is a lot. Do you want more time-?"

"Sign the damn paper, Page," he growled, and Kharis grinned broadly, then raised his arm up and around Eric, pulling him bracingly close to his side. 

"We're going to be ok, Eric. I know this is a huge change, but you're going to be fine, I'll do everything I can to make you happy," he promised him, and Eric nodded, and closed his eyes, trying to not let this sudden contact add to how overwhelmed he felt. It...it felt good. Kharis was solid and safe, warm, he smelled nice, and Eric wondered, fleetingly, what it might feel like to sleep next to him at night…

Well, 'might' wasn't the right word. He wondered what it will feel like to sleep next to him some day.

Dr. Sworensen smiled calmingly as Kharis finished the last of his papers and handed them back over the table. "Excellent, excellent, and I'll just sign as the witness, yes? And there we are. Congratulations to the both of you, to you, Eric, I'm sure we'll have plenty to talk about on Tuesday then?" 

Eric just pressed his face further into his fiance's side, tired already of the attention.

Thankfully, if anyone in this God forsaken CEC had any tact, it was his shrink, who piled all the paperwork back into a folder, binding it up neatly.

"Alright, I'm taking this back up to the registry office, they'll get it into the system tomorrow morning - no, Eric, don't fret, it's binding from the hard signature, not the digital copy- and I'll just leave you two to have a little time alone to talk, hm?"

...Eric did not like the way Sworensen said that. Time alone to /talk/ sounded so suspiciously vague, and Eric stiffened. There was no way Kharis didn't notice.

"Relax, Eric," he cooed, his voice slow and dove-like as the door clicked behind the shrink, and Eric could feel it through his ribs. "I promised you, I'm not going to do anything. Should a couple choose to celebrate their engagement, that's their choice, but we're taking things slow, as you need. And honestly I prefer it that way too."

"What, you wanna save it for marriage?" Eric grumbled, staring at the coffee table. "Expecting a wedding night virgin? Sorry, I lost that when I was 16."

"...tell You what Eric, if you want to talk about our future sex life, which I'm all for, you need to sit up and look me in the face," Kharis offered, "but if you'd rather just be with one another alone for a few moments, I'm fine just holding you."

Something burned behind Eric's eyes, a traitorous dam about to break, and he blinked it away furiously.

"...th...this is fine," he stammered, and Kharis rubbed his hand bracingly over his shoulder.

"It's fine with me too, Eric."

On the wall, Sworensen had a clock, patterned with cardinal birds, and in the silence of the office, Eric could hear each second tick by, taking him further and further from the childhood he hadn't finished yet.

"...hey, Kharis?" He cautiously broke the heavy silence. "Can...can we have an autumn wedding?"

"Hm. I don't see why not. God knows my mess uniform will be more tolerable in the fall."

Eric recalled the formal attire Kharis wore on their first date, dark military blue with gold and brass, cords and medals and a white tie, and added to it the thought of him standing at their makeshift altar. God damn it, he cursed to himself, covertly trying to press his legs together.

"Yeah...and um...my birthday is in August? The 19th...and I think I'd rather not be a child bride, y’know?"

"More than fair, " Kharis agreed evenly. "That gives us some breathing room too, hm? And me time to arrange for a new home-"

"Three bedrooms, huh?"

"....thats right."

The weight of the implication sat on Eric’s shoulders, and he was careful not to move. If he was still, the thought could rest, and he could observe it. 3 bedrooms, a home to start. To grow into. Rooms to use first as an office, maybe, storage for the things they didn't bother to unpack. Then, of course, a nursery, for his...their….yeah, their kids.

"...and we can wait awhile? Before I'm a mom?"

"...of course baby, until you're ready."

"...guess maybe I should go back and actual read all those baby books," Eric said in an odd hitch of a voice halfway between a hiccup and a choked sob.

Kharis pulled him closer and leaned his cheek down onto Eric's head, and he felt his hair catch slightly in Kharis’s stubble.

"There's plenty of time for that later. Just rest a while, get use to the idea of a wedding before you start picking out baby names, ok?"

"I know," The blonde nearly squeaked, his heart slamming in his chest. "But I...I wanna think about it? Just some...I...I know you're way older than me-'

"...not /way/ older," Kharis insisted and Eric could just hear the pout in his voice.

"- but I don't need a dad, ok? I already have one and he's great. I don't expect to come home and you be my caretaker for 18 months till they just give me to someone else. I know well have sex, and I expect it to be g-good, and ah, I know we're gonna have babies even if it sounds like an absolute horror show. I just...I don't want to pretend it isn't gonna happen, but I'm just scared -!"

And the dam fucking broke, tears spilling from his eyes in heavy, wet gushes and racking sobs. Almost on instinct, he turned, and finally returned the hold Kharis had on him, wrapping his arms tight around his future husband’s neck.

"Eric...oh Eric, sweetie, it's alright, just let it out, you're ok," Kharis soothed, and god, /god/, it felt so good in his arms. Safe and tight, like nothing outside could hurt him. Not Jameson and his wandering hands, or the encroaching governments need to control every fucking aspect of his body. Kharis was a buoy in a rising sea, and Eric clung to him, praying the chains would hold lest he be swept away.

"Eric, I'm sorry...Im so sorry you have to go through this in a world that refuses to be kind to you. I wish I could offer you a truer freedom, but I'll be a good husband to you, and someday you'll make a wonderful mother to our babies, and we'll raise them to be far better men than what exists now."

Wet faced, Eric nodded into his shoulder, taking in his scent with each gasp for air. Pretty words,,he let them settle into his heart, memorizing them and hoping they would still ring as true when he took them out again, a bedtime story against the nightmares.


	20. Blessings In a Lost World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a day might not seem like the best use of my time, but, 1, I wanted this to be it's own chapter and 2, I couldn't wait any longer to post this because I've been planning this chapter since, like, last October

)))Kharis(((

Mr. Mitchel McDaugh worked second shift, 3-11pm, Monday through Saturday and, according to Eric, was usually up by 9am those days, to have a leisurely morning before putting in his long hours behind a welding arc. Thus, Kharis was sure that, at 11:15 that Monday morning, Mr. Mitchel McDaugh would be up and awake and at least not still sleeping when a visitor called at his door. Also according to Eric, his brother would be at school until noon, when he came home for lunch, to return at 2 for the rest of his classes; his stellar grades all through school had ensured him a place at the local community college, sparing him from otherwise mandatory military service; it seemed the McDaugh’s were quite good at that.

Parked at the end of the street, Kharis took in the neighborhood, a bit more...lacking, than what he had grown up in, though his family had by no means been wealthy. This part of town annexed the industrial district so closely that metal shops, garages and houses all occupied the same lots, faded retail signs alongside residential mailboxes. The road was paved, but cracked, most driveways having only bits of cement left, overtaken by gravel. Each house was a toss up in terms of disrepair, with 1221 having desperately faded paint but a kept yard, flowers, and a tire swing still hanging from a front tree, vestiges of the two children who had, until very recently, run wild among the neighborhood.

Shit he did not want to do this, but it was only proper, and he was in no place to deny Eric anything he asked for right now. 20 years ago, he would have done the same with a girlfriend, for respect if not for actual permission...but he really didn’t want to do this.

Kharis flipped down the visor in his car, checking for any breakfast in his teeth, any hairs wanting to spring free of his bun, crumbs or lint or flecks of whatever on his uniform, and found himself to be satisfactory, at least by his own eyes. He had a suspicion, though, that Mr. Mitchel McDaugh would find a great many flaws.

Fine. Time to just get this fucking over with.

Doors locked (he checked twice) Kharis slung his bag over his shoulder, patting it as he walked to make double triple sure everything he intended to bring was still there; it wouldn’t do to reach for something to find it amiss. The last thing he needed was his first encounter with his father in law to be an embarrassment.

Up the drive, over a cracked sidewalk, 2 steps onto a porch, to a worn brick house, sturdy, the kind made to withstand the midwest being, well, the midwest. With another deep breath he hoped would be calming, Kharis reached up, rang the bell, and waited. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three- how long did it take someone to get to the door? What if he was still sleeping? What if he was indisposed or not home- no, his pickup was still in the drive, a 2074, rusted but reliable. Ok, ok, it’s fine, 9 Mississi-

“Can I help you?”

Eric took after his father quite a bit, was all Kharis could think at first as the screen door swung open and his father stood expectantly. Just a bit shorter than Kharis, Mitchel was lean, blonde, and resilient, his own skin darker, more tanned than his youngest son. Wrinkles settled around hazel eyes, premature, like many men their age, especially someone who spent his days in a trade to scrape a living for his family.

“Ah- good morning, Sir, are you Mitchel McDaugh?”

“...I am,” he said cautiously, not making any motion to step away from the door, either towards this stranger or to invite him inside. Fine, Kharis expected no different.

“Excellent, I’m glad to find you at home. I’m Major General Kharis Leonard Page, and I was wondering if I could have a bit of your time, to speak to you about your son, Eric?”

“Eric ok?” was Mitchel’s immediate, gunshot response, his already tense posture stiffening, and Kharis was quick to assuage his fears.

“Yes, Sir, Eric is just fine, he’s doing well, ah- could I come in, so we can speak?”

Mitchel stood, trying to get his lanky frame to fill up as much of the doorway as it could, it seemed, as he crossed his well-muscled arms across his chest, his thin t-shirt showing that while he may not be as widely built as Kharis, he could hold his own. Up and down he took in General Page, and oh, God, Kharis knew he knew. It was fucking obvious, there was no other reason that someone would be showing up at his door regarding Eric unless he wanted to marry him. Suddenly it seemed like a very real possibility than Kharis might just be turned aways, and he would have to tell his fiance that he failed his very first assignment. Shitshitshit-

“...Yeah. Fine, come in,” he finally sighed, lazily turning from the doorway; he didn't bother to hold the screen to Kharis.

He followed Mr. McDaugh inside to the living room, and accepted the offer to sit on whichever piece of mismatched furniture took his fancy. Kharis chose the end of a couch, sinking down further than he expected.

“Thank you, sir, I appreciate it.”

“You want anything? I just made coffee.”

“Yes, please, a coffee would be lovely, thank you.”

Left alone for a few moments, Kharis eagerly took in the room around him, finding almost immediately the photographs on the wall, and picked his Eric out of the clutter; his brother was a blue-eyed brunette, so it wasn’t hard. He looked about 12 in this one, summer-tanned and all leg, sunburn across his face as he and Daniel took solace in afternoon shade. A birthday, maybe? Eric's was in August, afterall. 12, maybe 11 even, definitely before anyone had any idea of what was about to happen to the world, when Eric and his brother were assured that the world would die with them-”

“Cookies are a bit stale, but good for coffee.”

Kharis turned back around as Mitchel laid a plate of oatmeal raisin on the coffee table between them, and handed him a mug of black coffee.

“Thank you,” he said, warming his hands on the mug; somehow his fingers seemed to have gone numb.

Mitchel said nothing, just took a long pull from his own cup, setting ti back down on the worn table.

“So, what do I call you then, Page?

“Kharis is fine.”

“Sure sure...good to out a face to the name. Eric’s talked about you before.”

“Oh, he’s mentioned me?”

“Yup. Didn’t mention you were-”

‘Don’t say black don't say black-’

“-a Major General-”

‘/Oh thank God./’

“So, tell me, what’s a Major General doing sniffing around my door?”

‘Oh like you don’t know,’ Kharis thought to himself, immediately policing his own internal monologue. An attitude would do absolutely no good right now, damn it.

“Well, Mr. McDaugh, as I said, I’m here regarding your son, Eric. I made his acquaintance the start of last month, and I’ve since come to spend some time with him. Your boy is a remarkably strong young man, bright, quick-”

“Yeah, I know my son,” Mitchel cut in, his eyes boring straight through Kharis’s, obviously testy at having someone else describe his kid to him. God this was going wonderfully.

“Ah, indeed yes, of course,” he apologized, picking up a cookie to set atop his mug for lack of anything else to do with his hands. “Well, Mr. McDaugh, I don’t need to tell you that when I say that I’ve made your sons acquaintance that what I mean is we’ve been courting.”

Over the rim of his mug, Mitchel made a scowl, finding either his drink or Kharis’s words bitter.

“Fucking hate that word, courting. Makes me think of those fundi churches back in the day, where the girls wore those prairie dresses and nobody could even hold hands before they got married. You’re dating my son, not courting him.”

Rather than argue semantics, Kharis gave Mitchel the point, nodding obediently.

“Yes, we’ve been dating, and I’m here today to ask if you might give your blessing for our marriage.”

‘Good job Kharis that wasn't so hard right? Right.’

Mitchel was silent, taking another long sip of coffee, and he never, not once, took his eyes off of Kharis. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he was blinking.

“You said you met him a month ago. Pretty fucking fast don’t you think?”

“Perhaps by outside standards, yes,” he confessed. “But the Population Standards Committee keeps a very tight schedule on the boys at the CEC, and it isn’t unusual for a court- ah, for 2 men to know each other a few weeks or so before they become engaged.”

“How fucking old are you?”

“36, sir.”

Again that bitter scowl crept up onto his face.

“Really? Whens your birthday?”

Ah, good, direct questioning, he could deal with this. Unlatching the clasp on his bag, Kharis took out the copy of his file he had packed, flipped it open to the first page and laid it on the table.

“January 4th, 2054.”

With two fingers, Mitchel turned the file closer to him, running his eyes over the information.

“...You’re 5 fucking weeks older than me.”

‘Ho shit that’s awkward.’

“...yes, Sir.”

“And my son is 17.”

“Yes, but sir, you’ll understand, most men are nearly my age before they’re cleared to find a carrier bride. Anyone who dates your son will be at least 33, 34, stable careers and incomes- as you can see,” and he tapped further down on the page, “I make more, more than enough to keep your son comfortable, as well as any future children.”

Mitchel took in the number, no doubt thinking about the injustice that this motherfucker made easily 5 times his own salary, but made no comment on it.

To the silence, Kharis continued, “I have a sizeable retirement fund and life insurance policy, so Eric would be cared for even upon my unexpected death, and I have a large family, including a brother with a carrier wife, that could help care for any children I might leave behind. I’m a very forward thinking man, Sir, and I would like Eric to get his GED, at the very least, and there are online courses that still enroll carrier’s-”

“Can you shut up for 12 fucking seconds?” Mitchel grunted, and Kharis did as he was asked as Mitchel flipped through his credentials.

“The fuck a guy like you doing here? Shouldn't you be in Chicago or something at the very least?”

“I served in Wichita, Houston, New Orleans and Denver,” Kharis informed him now that he had permission to speak, “But I grew up in Omaha. Once I reached a rank to choose my own post, I wanted to be back on the prairie. Mountains make me feel too closed in, I suppose.”

Something in that sentence must have been adequate, since Mitchel didn’t push it any further.

“Your daddy still alive?”

“No, Sir, he died in 87, heart attack.”

“You got bad genes then?”

“He was 79, not so young these days. The only thing that runs in my family is hay fever.”

Mitchel went quiet again, reading through the file, careful as anything.

“Ok, tell me. You knock my boy up already?”

“Sir, I hugged him for the first time last night,” he replied soberly. “I’m not in the business of knocking up unwed carriers.”

“Huh. better choices than me at least,” he nearly laughed. “I was 17 when Daniel was born, and I thought that was enough of a fucking shock, then a few months later here comes Eric’s mom, saying she was pregnant too. I didn’t even fucking know her last name...Jesus that was a lifetime ago-”

“I’m sorry-”

“Why? I just said, it was a lifetime ago. We had a one night stand, I got her pregnant, 6 and a half months later, she’s dead and I got two babies to look after, me and my dad.”

“And you did a wonderful job raising them-”

“Shut up and listen, damn it, I might not have any stars on a uniform but Eric is my Goddamned son.”

Duly noted.

“I’m telling you this damn story so you’ll understand something; I could have taken off, you know? I didn’t have to take them in. I was stupid, I was 18, I don’t need to tell you what life was like after the plague. But I didn’t. I took them both in, I put myself through an apprenticeship, I worked fucking 12 hour days to keep those kids fed, and still came home the end of every day to read to them before bed, make sure they were as happy as I could make them. Any fucker who comes along and wants to marry my carrier son better live up to what I did and BETTER. He ever shows up on my doorstep crying because his husband won’t take care of his own damn kids or he’s running around with something cuter and thinner when Eric’s on baby number 4, and I’ll come to your God damned office and kill you myself. My boys are everything I have in this shithole world, Major General, and don’t think Daniel wouldn’t be right behind me. You understand me?”

“....Yes, Sir, of course,” Kharis whispered, his throat dry. Suddenly he wished he’d asked for water instead of coffee. “I’m very fond of Eric, Mr. McDaugh, and I want to make him happy. I can’t change what’s expected of a man and his wife in the Union, but I can assure you, I can offer him a life safe from beatings or isolation. I want him to have full access to you and his brother- in fact, sir, I know Daniel is studying genetic agriculture, and I can help him find a university to study at, after his two years at the JuCo. I can help take some of the burden off of you, for your house-”

“My house is my 3rd pride and joy after my kids, Kharis, careful what you say.”

“Yes...I just mean, if your roof leaks, if the summer tornado's damage your home, if your truck breaks down, you won’t need to worry about where you’re going to get the money. I know that our ages make the situation ah, a bit nontraditional, but a man should be able to help provide for his in laws as well as his bride. I don’t question your ability to keep a living for yourself, just know that I can offer not only a safe home for your son, but opportunities for you and for Daniel as well.”

Mitchel thought, and Kharis could see his eyes dart around the room, to a brown stain on the ceiling, and he wondered how kind the weather had been to the family home so far this summer.

“...that shit doesn't matter. What matters is Eric. Does he like you?”

“He says he’s quite fond of me too, which given his situation I find truly endearing.”

“...you’ve already asked him to marry you haven't you.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And he said yes.”

“He did,” Kharis affirmed, sitting just a little straighter. “The Union provides precious few rights to a carrier, but so far, the right to pick his own husband is still protected; once he’s old enough to consent, a carrier is old enough to wed without his dad’s permission. I hope to have your blessing, since I would like to have a positive relationship, but you’re right, Eric and I are going to be married regardless. He wants a fall wedding, after his birthday.”

Mitchel let himself sink back into his armchair, tapping his fingers against the side of his coffee cup, looking skyward, seeking divine intervention in the ceiling fan.

"...Never thought I would have to think of my son as someone's bride," Mitchel confessed quietly, staring deep into his coffee, diving a future in ground beams. “I use to hold him, tuck him into bed at night, without any idea...when the first rumors started rolling in, I didn’t believe it. Nobody did. It’s...that’s science fiction, it’s some Brave New World shit. Hell, I still don’t understand it-”

“None of us do, Mitchel.”

“-and it still doesn’t feel real. Eric is my little boy, how the fuck is he going to be a mother? What am I supposed to do on his wedding day? Walk him down the aisle? Give him away? What the fuck do I do once he’s pregnant? There’s no fucking-!” he sighed, taking a deep gulp, angry, it seemed, that he had coffee and not vodka. “He’s only 17, so many of them are so young, and we’re pressing them into a role that didn’t even exist their whole life…”

Kharis had no words, try as he might to search. This like death, was the world’s equalizer. Nobody had answers. Some got on their knees in mass, laying linen squares over their carrier’s heads in hopes of appeasing their God, others labored over blood samples and test tubes, desperate to isolate what caused this mutation, all of them desperate to save the world- what a pity nobody cared this much about the future 18 years ago.

“...Fuck it...yeah….Yeah, ok. Listen, Daniel will be home at noon. Go take that fancy-ass salary of yours and go get us all something nice for lunch. The three of us can talk over food. This kind of shit, it’s always better to talk over food.”


	21. What Even Is Gender

"Eric! Eric McDaugh you come back here and answer for your sins!"

Shiiiit, this wasn't gonna go well. Eric had managed to avoid Dovine the night before, not finishing with Kharis till nearly 11; they hadn't been kidding when they said they let you do whatever you wanted once you were engaged, and Eric was very sure his doctor would be a little surprised in 3 weeks when he still got his period. Not wanting to face his roommate after shoving him into a surprise date, he had crashed on the couch while Perry and Tomas finished up a round of some cartoon character fighting game, lulled by the sound of the console and Tomas cussing vibrantly in Spanish. He'd set his phone for an early alarm, to slip to the bathroom unnoticed, but Dove cornered him by the sinks.

"Eric what the fuck was that yesterday?" His best friend demanded, hair mussed from sleep. "You break up with a guy and drag me in to be his rebound?"

"...Kyle's nice," he stammered for an explanation, looking around wildly for a witness but finding none. Great, they'd never find his body. 

"I didn't have any fucking makeup on, Eric, I was dressed like white trash!"

"You are white trash, you call yourself white trash daily -"

"-and I never even met the guy! And you leave me there to go flirt with your General-"

"Did you like him?"

"Yeah we're having dinner at 7 tonight, but that's not the POINT-!"

Eric let Dove get his indignation out of his system, then, smirking to himself the entire time, waiting for him to run out of steam. Call him a smug little shit, but he was quite pleased when that spark of inspiration struck him post-breakup.

"Seriously Eric what a little dick, where do you get off? What's wrong with him, huh? If he's so nice why did you leave me your leftovers -"

"Kharis-and-I-got-engaged-last-night," he spat out as quickly as his mouth could form the words, knowing full well that this news would make Dove completely forget his pissy attitude.

Just as expected, his crystal blue eyes widened, a grin breaking out across his lips.

"You're shitting me, really? Bout fucking time, McDaugh!"

"Omigod Dove its been like a month," he protested, turning to the sinks to coax out some hot water to wash his face. "It's not a big deal."

"Totally, it's just the rest of your entire life. " Dove planted his palms onto the counter and hopped up to chat. "Now come on, spill! Was he all old fashioned on one knee?"

Eric grimaced at the notion as he wet his face. "Hell no, it was a cut and dry thing, you were there when Taylor was helping us make our list things!"

"Well yeah but that doesn't mean he was gonna pass the test!" Dove gushed, all but wiggling where he sat, "or that you'd both decide you wanted to get married!"

Eric shrugged, more than a little awkward under the attention, but Dove seemed to have plenty to give; he grabbed him round the neck and pulled him, wet face and all, to hug tight.

"Congrats, Eric, I'm happy for you," he murmured into his hair, his arms warm around him. "You're gonna end up even better off than Owen."

"How high a bar is that?" Eric teased back. "He's already a stepmom, doesn't seem like a win...which reminds me, did I tell you? Kharis is at my dad's today."

"Hoshiiit!" Dove laughed; he'd never met Eric's dad in person, but he said hi on the phone once, and had heard plenty of stories. "Asking for his virgin son's hand in marriage?"

"Jesus Christ what is it with everyone and our fucking virginity?" He groaned, and finally freed himself from Dove's grasp to continue washing his face. "It's like I told Kharis last night, I'm no blushing Madonna."

"Yeah well neither was I but I tell you what, Er, it's a whole different thing as a carrier."

Face full of suds, Eric peeked his eyes open, scrubbing circles over his cheeks. "O...oh?"

Dove gave a motion halfway between a nod and a shrug, but as usual he never shied away from sex talk. Which Eric found humiliating as a teenager but, ah...somewhat comforting as a young carrier.

"Well, yeah...I mean even if you bottomed before, when you lost it? It feels totally different than the first time you do it as a carrier. Didn't you pay attention to, like, any of Taylor's classes?"

"No? Duh? I was too busy having an existential crises, man."

Dove laughed, twirling a piece of feathery platinum hair around his finger. "True enough, sure, sure, but I mean...at least Taylor's gone through it, you know?"

"It?"

"Yeah, it, all of it. Changing, marriage, sex, getting knocked up, squeezing the kid out his vag-"

"Dove, ew-"

"Hey, it's our future too, Eric, and as your big CEC brother, it's my responsibility to supplement your lackluster education, Carrier McDaugh."

Eric turned off the tap, patting his face dry with a clean towel. "Eugh, don't call me that, Dove, reminds me of him."

The name didn't need to be said; both recalled the other night with crystal clarity.

"Well, point is, Er, you're gonna lose it a second time soon, and I mean, it kinda hurts, you know? The first time."

"Taylor said that wasn't always true…"

"Ah so you did absorb some knowledge into your thick skull!" Dovine tapped his knuckles twice onto the top of Eric's head. "Good, you're not hopeless."

Eric said nothing as he dug in his bag for moisturizer, spreading a thick layer into his clean skin.

"...so...did it hurt for you?"

"Hm. A little. Not too bad. Guy who fucked me was gentle enough; most guys have never gotten near a pussy before, and want to just fuck you quick and dirty, but he was alright, got me wet at least-"

"Jesus, Dovine-!"

"Grow up Eric this is important ok? Just...don't let Kharis just have his way, you know? Legally speaking he's gonna own you, but if he's a decent guy he'll go slow. Owen had a guy finger him to break his, paid him back with a blowjob, said it hurt less than he thought...I'm just saying, you know, you're young, and you're smaller than a lot of carriers...just tell him what hurts, if you can't tell him what feels good, ok?"

Pink faced and tight chested, Eric nodded, ducking his head to hide his cheeks as he pulled his hair back.

"Yeah...ok, Dove...I appreciate it."

He also appreciated the fact that Dovine seemed to be done humiliating him for a while; he couldn't very well be running his mouth as other boys began to file into the bathroom, ready to start their day. As the pair left soon after for breakfast though, Eric couldn't help but backtrack, leaning close to Doves ear.

"So do you think I should have warned Kharis that he's older than my dad?"

He was pretty sure he nearly killed his best friend right there in the hallway.

)))(((

Around the table went a platter of English muffins and bagels, a bowl of fruit, turkey sausages and creamer for their coffee, and Eric filled his plate. Today was not the fucking day to get a food mark on his file; he had long grown fucking tired of that shit, and wanted to instead just get through his classes and wait and see who called him first that afternoon, his dad or his fiance-

"Good morning, carriers, well rested from your weekend?"

Oh Jesus Christ it was too early for this. Well actually, the heat death of the solar system would be too early for Jameson's crap yet there he was, polished boots and clean uniform all in place. Eric wondered if he'd had his jacket cleaned on Sunday or if he had a spare.

Of course none of the carriers replied to his morning greetings, not even the new little brunette who seemed eager to suck up to anything in charge, but that didn't stop Jameson from making his usual rounds. The routine could almost be comforting if it wasn't Jameson. Starting at the corner he'd circle the table, remark on someone's posture, someone else's hair, make sure everyone had their plates filled and medicine taken. It occurred to Eric that it must be the control itself that Jameson got off on, and being able to so intimately view it; otherwise there were dozens of other career paths that could allow the captain more power over hundreds of men. But no, here he was, happier seeing the discomfort on the face of 13 changed men.

"And here we have Carrier McDaugh," he purred by way of greeting, and Eric's stomach cramped up around his half eaten muffin, making him wish he hadn't gone for something so dense and carby. Still, it gave him something to focus on apart from how Jameson was so close he could nearly feel his body heat.

When Eric failed to give Jameson the attention his delicate ego so desperatly craved, he just seemed to take it as an invitation to keep talking.

"Or, do you prefer Mrs. Page already?"

/motherfucker/

Around the table the other carriers struggled with mixed impulses, the group awash in sudden excited murmuring but also not wanting to be too invested in anything Jameson had to say. So all, whether bubbling up with happiness for Eric or wanting to wish their condolences, paid rapt attention while pretending to be interested only in their breakfast.

"...we aren't married yet," Eric said as firmly as he dared, knowing that it wouldn't be enough to dissuade Jameson. Indeed, he merely reached forward to take hold of Eric's left hand, holding it high to see.

"No ring? Pity; a smart man should mark his breeder as soon as possible."

Eric wanted to elbow him right in the fucking groin, but didn't fancy joining Zion in a psych lockdown.

"Don't need a ring," he explained pitifully, trying to pull his hand back, but Jameson seemed to enjoy holding it, savoring something forbidden to him.

"Hm. Well, I would be careful, little missus, because men are always looking for an opportunity, and a young carrier is just such a temptation."

Eric looked up towards the staff table, wondering how it could be that nobody questioned Jameson's words; could the doctors not hear him? Or were they as powerless as the carriers in terms of his behavior? It just wasn't...it wasn't fair, and Eric closed his eyes, waiting for Jameson to let him go, wishing it was Friday already, and he could see his dad. Wishing it was evening, so his fiance would call.

Finally the universe showed the teenage carrier some mercy, released him, and carried over to Tomas, who looked one belly rub away from ripping the captain's arm off.

Good, Eric wished he would.

)))(((

"H...hey daddy…"

"Hey, Eric, did you hear? I had an interesting afternoon."

Eric grit his teeth and winced, his fingers coiling in the curly-q phone line.

“Is...is that so, Dad?” he asked, knowing it was useless to fake nonchalance. “Uh...listen, dad, I know...but it was kinda sudden, I didn't...I didn’t have time to say anything, and you just don’t get how quick things move here at Stillwater...it’s honestly a fucking misleading name, I ought to talk to someone from PopReg about that-”

“Eric, sweetheart, are you ok?”

...Jesus Christ he didn’t even know, nor had he really thought about it. The last 48 hours had been kind of a God damned clusterfuck, and in these few moments of quiet, it was only just starting to feel real.

“I...I’m alright, Dad, sure...I mean, you shoulda seen everyone after breakfast, when they found out I was getting married? Everyone's already asking when the wedding is, if I’m gonna wear a suit or a dress, what kind of cake-”

“Honey, stop.”

And Eric did; he halted his words to a screeching standstill at his dad’s behest, and having lost his momentum, he felt as though he would never be able to pick them back up again. This, it seemed, suited Mitchel just fine, as it left him room to speak himself.

“Eric, baby...I had General Page in my living room for a good 3 hours this afternoon...have you even spent that much time with him?”

“Y-yeah, lots more,” he squeaked, and shit, comparatively, it was true. Probably a grand total of, like,12 hours! That's like an 18 month engagement in carrier time! ...but how did a 17 year old convince their dad that half a day was a good amount of time to get to know someone over twice their age? “Kharis is nice, dad...he’s nice…”

“Well sure, he’s nice, but there’s a lot more to marrying someone than them being nice,” Mitchel said, his voice gruff and taking on more of that midwest twang as he got cranky. “Have you met his family?”

“No…”

“Been to his house?”

“No, that’s not allo-”

“Did he try anything with you, Eric?”

“Dad, Jesus, you’re starting to sound like my doctors,” Eric groaned. He tucked his feet up onto the worn pleather armchair, anxious and antsy. “You don’t...Dad you don’t get it, ok? You can’t get it; guys your age almost never change, and I’m glad I don’t have to worry about you ever seeing shit from this side of the wall, but that’s just it, ok? You can’t know-”

“Eric, honey, I’m sorry.” Through the phone, Eric could hear the traffic from slow cars on the street outside, and he pictured his dad sitting out in the workyard on his lunch break, picking at a turkey sandwich or leftover fried potatoes. “I really am sorry...Jesus...you’re 17…”

“Age of consent is 15,” Eric parroted morosely, words he’d heard far, far too many times since he’d changed. He wondered if these 50 and 60 year olds had any real memory of what it was like to be 15, 16, 17…

“Fucking...I know, yeah...listen, sweetie...I can’t talk too long here, you know, I gotta get back to work soon, I just...please be careful, son? Be smart around him, around any man-”

“So what did you tell him?”

A dry laugh reached Eric through the tinny connection, the rough whisper of breath into the receiver. “Well shit, Eric, what could I tell him? Said he had my blessing, but if he ever harmed one fucking hair on your head I’d take a blowtorch to his testicles.”

“...love you too, Dad.”

)))(((

“Hey, Kharis.”

“Hey beautiful. I had an...interesting afternoon.”

Wiping away the feeling of deja vu, Eric smiled, and, he was ashamed to admit might have let out a small laugh that could be confused for a giggle.

“So I heard from my dad.”

“Oh, wonderful, I’m sure he sang my praises,” Kharis groaned, then added, “hey, Eric, did you not realize I was older than your dad or did you just...forget to mention that?”

“...uh, yes.”

“That’s not a damn answer, Eric,” Kharis retorted, but Eric could hear the smile in his voice, and then a pleased sigh. He pictured his fiance, finally home and out of his stifling uniform, settling down on the couch with something to drink, hair loose and comfortable. It was..not the most unpleasant image. “But yeah, he was not impressed with an old man wanting to court his kid. Doesn't like that word either...your dad doesn’t like me much, let’s be honest.”

“He isn’t going to like anyone, Kharis, you knew that.”

“True, true...your brother seems nice, though, we had lunch, we hashed out some of the logistics...they both send their love, darling, and as much of a blessing as they can conjure up.”

Eric nodded to himself, twirling the cord. “Yeah...and they ah, got the paperwork in the system this morning...I guess we’re, like, officially engaged now, huh? Since my dad knows...and all the guys here.”

“Did Dove freak out?”

Eric grinned. “Yeah, course he did. Owen’s gonna come visit this weekend, I’ll tell him then.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled for you, darling...how are you holding up?”

Just like with his conversation with his dad, those words seemed to be breaking through some sort of fog, and Eric clambered to keep hold of himself. “I’m...still kinda catching up, I guess,” he admitted, thinking of the chapter in his marriage and family textbook about ‘being honest and upfront the first time questions are asked; leading your husband on or making him guess what you need does no relationship any favors.’ - he may or may not have been doing some catch up reading during study hour. "Im...kinda scared, Kharis."

"Sure, honey, sure," he said with measured sympathy, as though cautious of sounding patronizing, and it occurred to Eric how they honestly knew precious little about how to read one another, made even more difficult over the phone without being able to see one another's face or body language ('physical contact and intimacy is crucial in building a connection and good communication; don't shy away from your husbands touch or advances,' said the textbook of questionable repute.) "I'll be back to see you on Thursday evening, we can have time to talk in private...but maybe it would be better to talk with another carrier too? Owen, maybe Taylor?"

"Taylor starts maternity leave the end of this week, I don't wanna bother him...he's fucking huge, Kharis, do you think I'll get that big when I'm pregnant?"

"Iii think it's still better to concentrate on marriage first, children later," he said simply, and Eric nodded again. He wasn't sure why he kept bringing it up; maybe he liked the reassurance he got every time Kharis treated it as a non-pressing issue. "What about your therapist? He seems nice."

"He's fine...I'll see him tomorrow, and um, they have like, a marriage counselor who comes in a couple times a month, I'll see him on friday...he's kinda old though? He worked with men and women couples back before, so hes, like, 60, I dunno...maybe Owen…mostly I just wanna see you."

As he made that admission, his belly fizzed, like the brown froth atop a glass of cold pop, and he drew his knees up further to bury his pink face. He wanted to see Kharis. Kharis was safe, he was secure, he was someone who knew the world in a way Eric couldn't. And, on a more direct note, he desperately wanted to find an excuse to be held again. Sure, a bride to be probably didn't need to find an excuse to be in their fiances arms, but it felt too needy, too clingy to just ask, and he was terrified to frighten Kharis away.

Funny, just a month ago he was trying his damndest to remain single.

"I know, baby boy, I can't wait to see you again, too."

)))(((

Carriers were, by design, typically a very bored bunch of men. They spent 6-12 months holed up in a boarding school with extra boarding and very little school. They might fill their summer hours playing outside and trying to make something grow in a little pot, or rainy evenings pretending to not be jumpy after a horror movie. But there was only so much to do in a CEC, only so long you could tolerate the same few dozen men day in and day out. Perhaps this was why trends took over the carriers like wildfire; nail art, succulent gardening, haiku, rummy tournaments, fortune telling, beadwork, collage, scavenger hunts, dyeing each others hair with drink mix, there was no end to what they could do to fill their endless hours.

So it only stood to reason that, liberal minded or not, carriers fucking loved weddings. It was something to /do/, it was a break in the monotony, like seeing someone scream out a guard, chuck a lunch tray or bringing a major general to a celebration. They thrived on drama and excitement and any sort would do. And thus, Eric didn't bother to argue when he found his evening spent surrounded by a group of guys who could talk about little else.

"Do you have a date yet?"

"You should wear a dress, men love that."

"You pregnant yet?"

"Please get a chocolate cake I'm gonna lose my shit if I have to choke down another bland buttercream nightmare."

"Nono, a carriers suit looks so cute on you, get a white one, with some lace edging."

"Those look so nice with a veil too, just as good as a dress."

"Where do you wanna go for your honeymoon?"

Honestly he could leave the planning up to 2 or 3 of these guys and have a picture perfect wedding day, never having to put a single thought into it. Some men just seemed to take to the change easier than others. Maybe they were already femme, maybe like Owen this was a vertical move, maybe they were just really good at playing the part. Whatever the case, these saps were practically Eric's family at this point, and he wouldn't deny them their entertainment. 

Tomas, being very pregnant and very engaged, had collected quite a few magazines on this most important topic, and more than anything else Eric was just amazed at how fast this market had become A Thing. It's not like men stopped getting married after the plague; it was just called a gay wedding back then, slowly losing the modifier as the need for a word like gay because nonexistent. And it wasn't like pre carrier weddings weren't a big business; people needed reasons to celebrate more than ever. But there was just something so different in the culture around carrier weddings than anything Eric had seen growing up. So much emphasis on looks and flowers and makeup and hair; overnight there was a market for wedding dresses again, with a large subset for those marrying post- conception like Owen. Flipping through a new, glossy issue of "New Modern Bride", Eric couldn't help but think that is sure as shit wasn't the carriers who had set these standards. The first one's were still dealing with dissociation and PTSD when the dress shops started opening again. It sure wasn't carriers who were editors or publishers of these magazines or textbooks. It wasn't carriers who told them to wear ruffles at the bodice to suggest curves or how to style a veil to hide military short hair. No, they might have followed those trends later, urging others to join them, but it all started with pre-war men who really, really missed their women.

"Kharis is gonna wear his military formals, right?"

Jesus, Eric had to jump a little, so spaced out that he almost forgot Perry was literally a foot away and very excitable. "Cause I think a suit would look nicer next to that."

"Uh...yeah, yeah I'll probably wear a suit," Eric said, surprised he could make even that much of a vague choice. "Maybe a veil...those ones that tuck under your hair a bit are kinda pretty I guess…" 

A page advertising laser hair removal, another on "feminizing workouts" for those whose hormones hadn't softened their bodies enough to fit the carrier ideal...god this was all so foreign to an Endgame Child. Gender didn't really exist to them, sexual orientation either. They never understood their grandpa's complaining that someone looked like a girl; everyone missed girls, why was that an insult? Why did it matter? Why did people use to kill each other for liking other boys, when there were honest to god wars brewing around the world? And why now, after living a life of bodily freedom, did Eric suddenly wonder if he should start shaving his legs? 

Lick a finger, turn a page. Perfume ad, man and carrier just an inch away from kissing in the rain. Not two men, no, you could tell the carrier because of his long hair and red lips. Funny, hair length never mattered till 5 years ago. Kharis still kept his hair long, so did Daniel…

Why the fuck did any of this matter and why did Eric's brain decide to start an existential crisis when he had so many more real world issues to sort through like homesickness and his cooking class and whether or not it was gonna hurt the first time his new husband fucked him?

Jesus Christ he wondered if he could just drink his way through his wedding.


	22. Heat of August

Movies and television were a unique experience for a carrier, to say the least. For the most part, Endgame Children and those young enough to be their peers had grown up on a small sampling of reruns or whatever discs their dad's happened to have in the house when the world ended. The only animated shows they'd ever seen were made before they were born, most having memorized entire movies line by line. As the world began to settle again after the plague and men needed diversions and distractions from the Hellscape that was a dying earth, acting and filmmaking became semi glamorous professions again, though Hollywood, they were not. Like everything else, there was a military controlled government office that dictated the when's and how’s of film. Eric's dad compared most post-war movies as "made for tv Lifetime schlock," whatever that meant.

Once carriers became A Thing, of course, media was quick to sensationalize and canonize this development of mankind, yet were not nearly so quick to hire actual carrier actors. Thus, most of the film's deemed "appropriate or uplifting for carriers" were government funded picture-house romance shows about, but not featuring, men like them. Instead, thin men donned skirts and makeup, simpered their voices, portraying the carrier ideal to a world where no such thing existed 5 years ago. It was also worth noting that at least 75% of these faux-carriers had shirts padded with pillows or dolls wrapped in blankets held to their chests. It was a very clear message; the default image of a carrier should be pregnant, mothering, and pretty, and there was little doubt that these glamourized images only fueled a survival-desperate cultures near fettishization of pregnancy.

And they fucking loved those piece of shit movies. Romcoms were their favorites, since they usually started at a CEC, and it was laughable to compare the movie to reality.

"Where the fuck do they live where their CEC has a pool?" Tomas barked in outrage. "My back hasn't stopped hurting for a month do you know what I would give for a swim?"

"Your firstborn?" Dove teased, but Tomas threw his hands up.

"Why not? I'll have 12 more before menopause! Might as well chuck out the one that gave me stretch marks!"

Eric helped himself to another handful of popcorn, watching the two conventionally attractive carriers spying on the visiting doctor that was their shared love interest. Yeesh, he couldn't think of a less appealing man to marry than the one who kept track of his menstrual cycle. 

Bunching himself up smaller on the couch, Eric leaned against Dove, and peered discreetly over at Tomas in the tv light, both hands over his belly. Screen or real life, both held a world suspended somewhere between fantasy and horror, and he wondered where in the middle reality actually was.

)))(((

Zion was freed from his psych hold after 11 days and Jesus fuck he looked like hell. Slowly, like he’d wandered into the room by accident, he joined the other carriers for dinner, letting one of the nurses fill his plate. He looked thin and pale, and way too sleepy, but Eric wondered if maybe a good chunk of that was whatever sedatives they were filling him with. Didn't want him trying to run again, afterall, and they wouldn't allow him near their other carriers until they were sure he wouldn't put ideas into their sweet little heads.

"Hey," Dove said softly as Zion took the seat next to him. Zion offered a weak smile in return, but mostly just stared down at his plate, making slow progress of his lasagna and salad. It looked like it took most of his concentration to eat, and once Eric looked closer, he could see just a little residue up near his cheek, from medical tape, and Eric nodded to himself in sympathy.

The group ate in relative silence, nobody wanting to disturb the tenuous peace that Zion’s presence brought. He was an enigma to them, as all new carriers were, except he held one glowing beacon above them; he ran. Zion ran, he escaped, and still nobody knew how he did it...and if the powers that be had done their jobs, he would definitely not be letting anyone in on his secret.

Dessert was doled out, eaten quietly, and finally the group was free for their evening. The weather forecast called for storms, high winds, lightning and wall clouds, so of course the carriers all did what anyone from tornado alley did; they set up camp in the yard.

God, Eric loved the world before a storm. Nobody who didn't grow up on the prairie could possibly understand the weight of the sky as the winds picked up, laced with rain and the threat of destruction. Around them, the flat landscape, dotted by a few low buildings and fewer trees, left a wide open stage for this production, and all 13 carriers fed off the energy. Someone passed around a bag of dark chocolates their boyfriend had brought them, and even Zion seemed to be alive enough to enjoy a few.

"It smells so good," Perry remarked, light catching in his dark grey eyes. "Nothing smells as good as a storm."

"Your dad never made bacon on a Sunday morning then," a C dorm boy of 19 teased. "Or French Toast. God I miss my dad's French Toast."

"You not free for home visits yet, Cadan?"

The term shook his head, shaggy black hair tickling his shoulders. "Level 2."

"Tell you what I miss, is decent coffee," Dovine lamented, groaning at the thought. "Back at the lab? There was a bistro just down at the corner, they made the real stuff, not the instant decaf shit they give us here. I should make Kyle take me out for coffee."

Under the covering of the porch roof, they were safe from the first few spitting drops of rain, and they all held their breath to savor the sound of it's tap tap tapping.

"...I miss playing soccer with my friends at school."

The wind took Eric's confession, so soft that he wondered if the boys on the edge of their group could even hear. "We use to play every fucking night after school, y'all shoulda seen how strong my legs were back then...come home muddy as shit and dad would make me hose off in the backyard before I had a shower so I didn't fuck up the drain."

A murmur of laughter rippled through them.

"I miss driving," volunteered Collin. "When I was still in the military, I always volunteered to do Jeep patrols. Windows down, wind blowing...my brain never gets that clear anymore."

Around they went, not so much having a conversation as just talking at each other. Wine, pizza, going to the movies, those terrible sugary snack cakes from gas stations, their own showers, favorite songs, concerts. The storm played witness to their losses, till the first bright strike of lightning snapped them out of their holy revelry.

"1 mississippi, 2 mississip-"

/CRASH!/ The entire group jumped, grabbing their chests and laughing at themselves. Cept Tomas, who was about 70% sure he just peed a little, and everyone just laughed harder at his behalf.

Another flash, another low rumble, and the wind got just a little faster.

"...I miss my boyfriend."

Zion stared at the broiling charcoal sky, clouds heavy with the rain yet to fall, and all the carriers fell quiet again. "Ricardo...I was...I was gonna marry him. He's so pretty...28, Puerto Rican. I was...I was gonna be good to him, you know? I really was. I wasn't gonna beat him, we only wanted a few kids...God I miss him...he'd been at his CEC ten months...now it's 11. I wonder who'll hell marry?...wonder who I’ll marry?"

Well wasn't that the question theye all wondered? Eric felt no small amount of relief that he answered that one, at least. Within the next 2-3 months, he'd be Mrs. Kharis Page, and at the very least, he would be safe. Ish.

"...I’m sorry, Zion," Dove said to the wind, shivering once as the summer air began to run cold. "I am...I had a boyfriend too. Not a carrier, just a g*u+y, but I had my job too...Jesus I miss my work. That shit was my life man."

"I was up for a promotion. Lieutenant," said Justice, a 31 year old who had joined them in May. "Worked my ass off since military school for it. Now it's just getting married and having kids, right?"

"...you never think it could be you." Eric remembered his shrink asking him about that, about how he felt as a last gen kid, seeing the change start around him.

Every single one of them, 17 to 34, nodded their heads.

"Its suppose to get more rare once you hit 30," Zion pressed on, and he was rocking slightly, the combination of drugs and wind too much on his shrinking frame. "Average age is like what, 23, 24? Once you get past 35, it's suppose to be almost a guarantee you won't change. That's the real reason they don't want 20-somethings dating carriers. Because of shit like me...fucking get to be my age and we all think, were as good as safe, it can't happen to us…"

Cedric, the same age as Zion, nodded sagely. "Didn't think it'd happen to me. I'm fucking 6'9, use to have a beard like a fucking Norse god. Carriers were like, femme little things, you know? Short, cute guys-"

"Women, you mean," Dove interjected. "They want you to think of carriers as women. Makes them feel better...makes us feel better."

"Yeah, that's right," Cedric nodded, rubbing the smooth skin on his face where hair still wanted to grow, thinner and patchier. "You make carriers just seem like they're the same as women, make them...make us...dress and act like we used to want women to act? Makes it seem foreign, containable."

"Doesn't matter how we feel about it through does it?" Tomas sighed, trying to get comfortable. "Look at you, Cedric, look at Eric-"

His ears went warm hearing his name.

"He's small and young, hadn't even been done growing. Fucking carrier ideal, but that's just coincidence ain't it? But he's gonna be held up as the standard rather than the exception."

Eric tapped his nails against the arm of his wicker chair. He hadn't thought of it that way before. Taylor liked to say he was lucky, he looked like the perfect carrier...maybe what he meant was that he’d have an easier life, as far as carriers went, since at least he could conform to their arbitrary beauty standards. 

Another crack through the sky, and suddenly the air was filled with wailing, high pitched and building.

"Sirens," Dove sighed.

"Basement?" Perry suggested, as though it were an option. It was one thing to watch the storm roll it from afar, but quite another to be caught out in it.

)))(((

Summer hit the CEC like a fucking brick, and they were all suffering for it. Nobody wanted to leave the air conditioned safety of the school until evening, and then spend all their time outside under the careful watch of guards who seemed just as well to not be outside in uniform during the day.

By the close of July and the start of August, though, they had plenty to distract themselves with. Taylor was due to give birth any day now, and was calling the CEC daily to give reports. Eric's 18th birthday was a couple weeks away, and while they usually had one or 2 a month, it wasn't every day one of their own reached a milestone while enrolled, and Dove wanted to make sure his baby brother had a good time.

Of course Dove had other things on his mind; he had his own wedding to throw together within 7 weeks.

"But you've only known Kyle for a month!" Eric had proclaimed, and he didn't need to wait for the commons room to erupt in laughter before clapping his hands over his mouth and realizing his own faux pas.

"Pot, meet kettle," scoffed Dove with high arched brows, a satisfied grin playing on his lips. "Come off it, McDaugh, I've been seeing him like twice a week, I've been on the phone more than Owen’s old room mate- he was right by the way, that asshole slapped him for the first time the other night and called Owen crying. So anyway I'm thinking late August so I can still be here for your birthday."

Ignoring the tonal dissonance of domestic abuse and wedded bliss mentioned so casually in the same sentence, Eric nodded encouragingly.

"You gonna wear a dress or a suit?" Eric heard himself asking, and wanted to punch his own god damned face for sounding like such a fucking /carrier/.

But Dove just grinned, and said he would wear a suit.

)))(((

At 8 in the morning on August 6th, Mr. Bloom met the carriers at breakfast and herded them all in to the classroom; on the long table near the chalkboard he’d set up his desktop computer, the monitor pointing towards the classroom, and had them all scoot their rolling chairs as close as they could get. Webcam affixed to the top, he opened a messaging program, launched a video call, and within seconds a connection had been made. Taylor's bright face appeared on the screen, another person around the edge of the frame being obviously his husband, adjusting a laptop or tablet or something.

"Tay!" Called out the chorus of young men, Eric included, save for a single new guy who had arrived while the dorm leader was on maternity leave.

Taylor beamed back at his little pack, his smile pretty even as the rest of him looked like hell. He was obviously in a hospital bed, the collar of his gown loose and visible at his shoulders, 3 beige wires sneakin from the top. His short hair was pulled back into a thick headband (teal and bright pink diamonds) and the circles under his eyes seemed to take up half his face.

"Hey, guys! I miss you!" Taylor began, his voice sleepy. "You've all been behaving, right?"

Everyone made their version of a noncommittal affirmative, getting the pleasantries out of the eay. Everyone knew what Taylor was wanting to talk about, and the looks on everyone's faces ranged from giddy to horrified.

"So you pop that kid out?" Tomas asked, in a voice that clearly said he was ready to do the same to his half-done bun.

Taylor's face absolutely lit up, and he nodded eagerly, carefully adjusting something in his arms as Kim moved the camera to better frame it. 

It was too incredibly small, this little lump wrapped in a mint green blanket with a matching beanie pulled over his head. Eyes closed, they still showed thick, black lashes over fat cheeks and a puckered little mouth. Despite himself, Eric couldn't help but think baby Park was kinda cute, and a few other carriers seemed to agree, as the coos outweighed the ews.

"He's so little!" Perry whispered excitedly, and Dove nodded, struck dumb with a mix of conflicting emotions.

"Yeah, he's pretty small! 5 pounds 10 ounces, still healthy though. His name is Kaylin."

"When can we meet him?"

"Does he smell good?"

"You doing ok?"

"I'm alright, guys, I'm just tired, and that's to be expected," Taylor said honestly, gently swaying little Kaylin against his chest. "I went into labor early yesterday afternoon, and he was born just after 9 last night. So only about 8 hours this time!"

"Only?" Tomas said breathlessly, folding his hands over his belly.

Taylor laughed, shaking his head sympathetically. "Yeah, only. Tori took me almost twice that, and two of those were pushing him out."

Oh dear Jesus they were going down that route, yup, and Bloom was standing near the door, oh so casually dicking around on his phone to make sure the carriers couldn't make a run for it.

And yes, they were, indeed, going there, and Taylor gave them a very intimate blow by blow account of his birth, from light contractions to his water breaking to mauling his husbands arm - "here, Kim sweetie? Show them your arm, they'll need to screencap this and show it to their husbands. Guys if your husbands arm doesn't look like that by the time you're in active labor he's not being helpful."

Duly noted, Eric thought, not wanting to think about birthing Kharis' s children yet.

Near the end of his story, the little guy started whimpering, his swaddled arms flailing as much as they could under his blankets. Without missing a word Taylor, a pro by now on baby number 2, juggled him to one arm, tugging around at his gown, to let Kaylin nurse.

"Guys, stop acting like children" he scolded in a rare voice of clarity as several carriers looked away. "This is what they're for, it's why we have breasts in the first place, and even if you don't nurse, it's nothing to be shy about. It's part of relearning to love your bodies."

Eric cast shy eyes around the room, and noticed it was the newest carriers who looked away; the old hats, the engaged ones, the ones in the final stretch before marriage or, in one case, birth, made themselves look, made themselves stay calm, knowing more than the others that this was their lives, sooner or later. Ok, ok sure, Eric could be ok with that. Its...its sweet, right? And Taylor said it was calming, and good for the baby, and the mom…

God, "mom". What a strange word still…

"I'll come visit in a couple weeks, guys!" He told them, his eyes dropping and betraying how badly he needed a nap. "And of course I'll bring Kaylin- oh! And Dove? Eric? Congratulations you two!"

)))(((

Eric turned 18 on August 19th, a Saturday, and he had a day pass home. For one day, just one, he could go back in time, have chocolate cake with peanut butter candy on top, strawberry ice cream and watermelon, without wondering what the dietician would say. For one day he could celebrate something that didn't have to do with his period or his widening hips or his engagement. Shit, they barely even talked about Kharis, except to detail the work he was doing in Oklahoma that kept him away from his bride on his birthday. 

Eric McDaugh had his last birthday as a single man, maybe his last without a child on the way, even, but he didn't want to think about that. 

Not that the day was entirely one big party. Eric's birthday always had one more aspect to it, one a lot less joyous; it was the day his mother died.

Eric had to admit most days, he didn't think very much about Brittany Crawford. She was a stranger to him, a photo in a yearbook of a cheerleader, blonde hair in a high, curly ponytail, big bow, pompoms. She was a dance team girl, she was snapshots in a chemistry class with safety glasses and gloves. She was a single photo of the two of them, Eric six months grown in her belly, a final picture as the plague reached their city. His dad didn't show that one to him until last year, after he'd turned 17, just before he changed. She smiled, but it was haphazard, hollow, betrayed by her swollen red eyes. She knew she was dying, she expected her baby to die, but took one last photo just...just in case he didn't.

And he didn't. He lived, he survived, he made it through 18 birthdays, he made a life for himself after the end of the world.

Before he left to return to the CEC, he took the photo down off his wall, and placed it carefully into a book to bring back with him 

At 18, Eric had outlived the mother he never met.

)))(((

"He was so small, Kharis, it was stupid!"

"The baby was 12 hours old, honey, a little early to call him stupid."

"Not him, just...the situation!" Eric clarified, sitting next to his fiance on the back porch, each with a glass of sweet tea. "He wasn't even 6 pounds, but Taylor said he gained like 30 pounds!"

"That sounds normal though, there's a lot of work involved in growing a baby," Kharis smiled, adding a wedge of lemon to his glass and offering one to Eric.

"I guess but...but god, so small...how do you even keep something that little alive?" He asked no one in particular, shaking his head. It was 3 days after his birthday, and Kharis was officially at the CEC on business, training 2 new guards on the lockdown protocols he helped develop through the local Popreg office, but he’d of course taken his lunch break with his fiance. Poor bastard looked miserable in his uniform, but Kharis swore if he sat inside for 6 more minutes he'd lose his shit. Too much time spent in front of computers.

"I'm sure were going to manage fine," he assured his young bride. "People have been raising babies since the dawn of time."

"Kharis, last summer my dad gave me one responsibility at our back to school cookout and that was to cut the watermelon. I dropped it down a flight of stairs!"

"Right, so I get us a one story house, good to know."

"Kharis!" Eric cried indignantly, aiming for a signature barefoot kick underneath the table, which the general took with laughter, his little carrier not really doing much damage. "Just fucking wait till I'm in labor with your spawn, Kharis! You didn't see the bruises on Kim's arm!"

Oh there was a flash of real fear in Kharis’s eyes, and he relished it with a long sip of his tea.

"Fair, then, fair. I did see what Daisuke did to my brother when he was in labor, and I would rather not give you other issues to work through come that time...no, I think not…"

Eric giggled, glad to see Kharis so flustered. So broad and tall, often in the immaculate uniform, it was nice to be seeing this more human side of him.

"Actually, speaking of my brother, love, I was wondering how you might feel about meeting him and his family this weekend? I would like to treat you to a nice dinner for your birthday, since I was out of town last weekend, and I thought perhaps we could meet Jamal, Daisuke and the baby afterwards for a coffee or dessert?"

When Eric did not immediately reply, Kharis was quick to backtrack.

"If you aren't ready, honey, I understand, but Jamal and I are very close, and I would like you to meet them before diving head first into the whole family...I also thought it could be good for you to have someone you could relate to, with Daisuke. He's a little older, 29, but very sweet, and since you have your mind on babies right now, it could be good for-"

"Uh...yeah! Yeah, course I'll go!" Eric interjected quickly, reaching across the table for Kharis’s hand. "I mean you've met my brother already, right? So it's only fair...coffee and dessert sound good!"

Such a wave of relief swept across his fiance's face; Eric really didn't expect someone who'd lived through the apocalypse to be so nervous about a family get together, but perhaps it was like he'd said; neither he nor Eric really knew what they were doing here.

"Excellent! They're really so looking forward to meeting you, Eric, Daisuke can't wait to have another carrier in the family."

"Are you inviting them to the wedding?"

"I am...you know we have limited space for guest's at the ceremony, so they'll be the only one's I invite. Sometime after, of course, the others will all want a look at you."

"You really know how to flatter a carrier," Eric grimaced, washing down that image with another draw of tea.

A wicked grin on Kharis’s face, he leaned closer across the table.

"You think that's bad, wait till the first formal event my battalion has after you become my wife," he chuckled, his eyes squinting up in good humor. "Every man in that room is going to be terribly jealous."

Despite himself, Eric couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit flattered, and he felt a blush rise across his face.

"...you're so pretty, Eric" Kharis breathed after a silent moment, and Eric just blushed deeper, a surge of humiliation joining his flattery.

"Shut up, Kharis."

"What, a man isn't allowed to find his future bride beguiling?"

"Beguil...who the fuck says beguiling," he complained, trying to cover up his embarrassment. 

"I do, apparently. You move me to poetry, Eric McDaugh."

"Shouldn't you be getting use to calling me by your name?"

Another nearly malicious smile revealing bright, even teeth, Kharis leaned further over the tiny table and said low, "alright then, Eric Page, does that sound better?"

"Oh yeah, babe, talk dirty to me," Eric teased back with a heavy dose of sarcasm, practically dripping it from his tongue. And Kharis knew he was being an ass, he could see it on his face, but oh sweet God that didn't stop his fiance smile from growing more subdued, his eyes narrowing.

"Is that an invitation, Mrs. Page, to detail my plans for our wedding night?"

For lack of anything better to say, far out of practice in the realm of flirtation, Eric just struggled to gain control of his breathing. "Oh, you're actually gonna wait that long to bed me?" He tossed back, eyes darting quickly around the yard to make sure nobody was eavesdropping. 

"Well, my little bride, if we need to," he relayed with mercy. "But I'm not opposed to hijacking a classroom after my shift is done."

"And what, professor Page, give your student an anatomy lesson?"

...shit, shit, he did not intend for his tone to be so deep, or for warmth to start gathering at the top of his thighs or for his fiance to look so very, intensely interested. 

"I...not...not yet, Kharis," he backpedaled furiously, pressing his legs together and looking shamefully down. "Im sorry, I didn't mean to get-"

"Hey, hey shush, baby, you didn't do anything wrong," Kharis soothed, bringing his hand up to cup Eric's shame warm cheek. "You didn't do anything wrong baby, it's ok to flirt and tell tales even if you don't make good on them right away. That's what couples do, so far as they're comfortable with it."

Hm. That's not what all those relationship books said, the ones they have to carriers before their weddings, that made the underground rounds to the newer boys too. They always said that opening themselves to sexual talk was as plain as spreading their legs; honestly, just having a pussy was all the consent the law needed from a carrier, but what Eric did was an open and slutty invitation. 

And he kind of liked it. 

"Sweetie, look at me," Kharis asked softly, only the smallest hint of command in his voice. Hesitantly, Eric obeyed, meeting Kharis’s dark eyes. "Eric, you're beautiful, I love you, I can't wait to /make/ love to you, but we're doing it on your time, ok? Not before. You understand?"

Eric nodded, trying to remember Kharis’s direction that he actually take control of himself and look at his fiance when they talk about sex...damnit, he wanted that uncomfortable heat in his lap to go away, that wetness growing between his legs to stop making him want to make bad choices….

...actually, fuck it. He could make a less bad choice. Lifting himself from his chair just a little, he raised a knee up under him, raising him till he was nearly atop the table, drew himself close to Khariss face, and parted his lips, hoping he didn't look even half as stupid as he felt he might.

His fiance got the message, perfectly clear, and stroked his thumb over the bone of Eric's cheek, closing the gap between them slowly, plenty of time for Eric to change his mind.

He didn't, and he sighed when Kharis' s lips met his own, warm, soft and slow. 

Eric melted, as though the heat from the August afternoon were finally reaching him, and he let out the faintest breath.

It was quick, Kharis pausing after just a few moments, and Eric put a little more space between them.

"You're shaking. "

"I...I know," was all Eric could say. He reached up to where Kharis still held his cheek, and lay his hand atop his fiance's. "But I...I’m ok. It's just….that was nice."

Eric wanted more, and he was terrified of that fact, and thrilled by it at the same time.

Kharis, very soon, had to return to work, at which point Eric locked himself shamefully in his bedroom, a hair tie on the door to tell Dove to stay the fuck out, and he thought of Kharis and himself sneaking away an afternoon in a classroom.

It wasn't until afterwards, lying contentedly on his bed, that Eric realized Kharis had told him he loved him.


	23. Microwaved Death

"Eric, I'm getting sick"

Eric looked over to the bed next to him, still scrubbing the sleep from his eyes as he shut off his alarm.

"Whu?"

Dove let out a deep, wet sounding cough, shuttered, and repeated himself.

"I'm getting sick!"

Shit. "But...but Dove, you're getting married tomorrow," Eric began quietly, only to get a plush duck named Mr. Potpie chucked at his head.

"You don't think I know when my own wedding is?!" Demanded his roommate, with a rough, squeaking voice. "It’s not like I made this choice on my own, Eric! I felt my throat get scratchy last night but I thought it was just allergies!"

"You don't have allergies," Eric unhelpfully pointed out, and Dove just hacked in response.

Well. Fuck. 

Dovine was, indeed, getting sick and it was, indeed, right before his fucking wedding. Immediately, B Dorm mobilized, gathering around Dove’s bed.

"Ok, well you need orange juice," said Perry, and Tomas agreed. 

"I can hijack the kitchen," he offered, "make you a hot soup, peppers and corn, it'll melt all the snot out."

"Great, he'll be a leaking bride," Eric sighed, but didn't turn down the request. "Should we get Dr. Kessler?"

"What's he gonna do about a cold?" Tomas wanted to know. With the air of someone ready to be a mother, he continued, "he just needs to spend the day in bed, drink lots of water, try to sleep it off. Not like anyone cares about his classes anymore, right, and you already got the spiel about being a good breeder from your shrink yesterday. "

Dove nodded pitifully, looking at the night stand between his and Eric's bed, piled with pamphlets and books about surrendering to your husband, raising children up like arrows in a quiver and how to lie back and think of the Union.

"Well see? You can just take today to rest then, and we'll make sure everything goes ok tomorrow, huh?"

Bless Tomas; years of hiding his sex had taught him how to keep his cool; nothing could be overwhelming after one a body spontaneously grew new parts without any cultural warning beforehand. Eric had really grown to admire him over the past few months.

Dove, for his part, just turned over and buried himself back into his covers to shiver and wallow in his own misery, and they let him. At breakfast Eric took it upon himself to inform Austin, the carrier who replaced Taylor as the dorm counselor while he was on maternity leave. He was...not Eric’s favorite person. 32 when he changed, he was 36 now, and seemed to overcompensate for his stolen masculinity by throwing himself in way too hard with the fascinating womanhood, sweet submissive little wife shtick. While he mostly let the carriers go about as they had been, Austin was always quick to voice his opinion on their clothing ("jeans aren't really appropriate for a carrier, if you ask me,") or to lead evening group chats with a scripture reading about helpmeets or some shit. Eric kinda felt bad for the guy, from a distance. 

Still, Eric had sympathy for Dove and whatever cold or flu had grabbed hold of him, and played mother hen for a bit, checking his temperature, getting him a menthol rub for his chest, and an extra blanket. Surely, he agreed with the other carriers, he'd be fine by morning.

)))(((

"Eric? I'm still sick."

It was just past 3 in the morning, and Dove awoke with another nasty hacking fit, his throat sore and dry.

"...so I see, Dove, I'm sorry," Eric said with a drowsy, sluggish voice. Reaching blindly into the dark between them, Eric sought out their lamp, flicking it on to release a puddle of amber light into the room. Dovine looked like microwaved death, pale and clammy, red cheeks and watery eyes.

So for the next half hour Eric got to practice his future career as mother, shuffling around the dorm for fresh water, warm blankets, cold medicine, hot tea and cough drops, arranging them all within reach of Dives makeshift little nest.

"Im dying," he sighed with as much melodrama as one could muster with his sinuses stuffed with mucus.

"No you're not," Eric said simply, smoothing Doves blankets around him. "You have some shit luck though, sick the night before your wedding. Guess you won't have to worry about a honeymoon baby though, not with the way you look."

It was testament to either his self awareness or his fever that Dove didn't argue for his dignity. Instead he nuzzled further into his pillows, red nosed and shivering.

"Yeah, good," he sighed quietly. "Gives me a little longer then."

"I mean, have you guys talked about, like, when you wanna start having kids?" Eric said quietly, words heavy on the bed between them. By now such questions felt like prayers on their lips, familiar if nothing else.

"Well, yeah," said Dove, his tired eyes wandering up to the stack of books on his table. "We're gonna just.. see what happens I guess. I'm not old, but 24 is old enough that they get on your ass when you're not pregnant, so we're like...we're not gonna be actively trying, but we're not gonna use condoms either, so…"

Eric nodded, absently setting his hand onto the curve of Dove’s hip through the blankets. 

"That's good, if you're ok with that….I think Kharis and I are gonna wait? Just a little while, since I'm so young?"

Dove nodded, listening quietly, but not seeming to want to say much. Made sense, his throat probably hurt, but Eric really didn't like the quiet.

"But...but I mean if something happened I guess it would be ok in the end, you know? If one of us got pregnant sooner than we thought...Kyle will make a good dad to your kids, don't you think?"

Again, Dove nodded, and gave another tremor.

"And Kharis too, Kharis will be a good dad," Eric said with a small but certain voice, "and we'll make good moms-"

"We’ll be ok, Er," Dove murmured, his voice muffled from his pillow and from his stuffed up nose. "Shit could be worse...listen, I'm gonna try to sleep this off a little more ok? If you can't sleep, that's ok, just try not to be too loud?"

Eric nodded, and ran his hand in a few more small circles over Dove’s hip, but he couldn't seem to make himself move from his bed. Concrete filled his bones, and no matter how much he wanted to tell his body to get up, he couldn't do it. This was the last night he was going to have Dove here with him, the roommate had had since he changed and moved in. Tomorrow he’d sneeze his way through his I Dos, leave with his new husband, and Eric would be alone.

Suddenly the darkness around him seemed an impossible chasm to fill, and Eric was desperate for something to cling to. His first instinct was that he needed to talk to Kharis, or his dad, but it was so late, he knew neither of them would be awake and it would be beyond assholery. Instead, he found the executive function to reach forward to snatch a book off the nightstand. The yellow light of the deskside lamp illuminated a cover photo of a couple, a man and his carrier bride sitting on a grassy hillside, watching the sunset. "A Giving Heart," read the title and, the blurb underneath, "how to develop a spirit of charity, love and service as you set the foundations of married life."

Looks like a fucking page turner, Eric thought to himself, but flipped it open anyway, running a finger down the chapter index;

"A Wedding Is Just a Party- Focusing On The Bigger Picture"

"The Marriage Bed- Preparing For Your Wedding Night"

"Honeymoon’s Over- Diverting To Your Husbands Wisdom"

Jesus Christ. Shaking his head, but curious, Eric flipped through a few random pages, letting his eyes wander over the clear type.

"-best way to get what you want us to align your will with your truest good. We may want a bigger house, a vacation, time away from the baby, but that may not always be what is best for us. Getting what we want fulfils our impulses and desires, but getting what we need fulfils our spirit. So how do we, as new carriers, discern what it is we need? Blessedly, it couldn't be simpler; we are given our husbands to shoulder that burden, and free us from that responsibility. Rather than whine for our wants or fret about finding the best way to make the most of ourselves, we can be free to rely on their judgement, guidance and loving direction-"

"Fucking gag me," Eric sighed, and flipped a few more pages.

"-call us or compare us to women, and we should not take offense to this. Our lives are proof that sex is an ever evolving, changing, beautiful thing, but it is also fair to still prefer to be called and referred to as a man. This split is part of why we should embrace the new title of 'carrier' with grace and dignity, as it encompasses that we are not replacements for women, not are we still to call ourselves men. We are mothers to a new world and deserve a new name, and along with a new name comes a new set of ideals.

It is important to learn to distinguish yourself from your husband, for a multitude of reasons. First, it helps to give you a sense of your own identity, rather than feeling pressured to live up to your husbands standards. It might be possible, for example, through diet and strenuous exercise, to keep up a muscular and strong physique, but simple biology makes this, for most carriers, a near impossibility, and that's alright. Instead of trying to be as strong as your husband, attempting to dress like him or behave like him to compete with him it is better to compliment him. Growing out your hair is a wonderful first step for a carrier, as long hair is not traditionally taken on only by women, but still retains a feminine air."

Eric bit nervously at his lower lip, browsing over the list of "carrier appropriate" looks he could try; loose linen pants instead of jeans, shirts with details near the bustline, florals, silks, nothing with a military inspired look (carriers were, of course, barred from all levels of service )

Eric closed the book and passed it from hand to hand, wondering if he'd be getting his own copy before his wedding...wondered what Kharis would think about these directives. Maybe he should ask him, he did say he'd want him to own some fancy dresses, afterall, for those parties and shit.

His chest began to feel tight, and he tossed the book quickly back onto the nightstand, where it landed with a dull thud. Beside him, Dove groaned softly into his pillow, scrunched up his eyes and settled back down to sleep. Careful to not disturb his roommate further, he eased himself off his bed and tipped over the carpet back to his own, drew back the covers and slipped in between the sheets. Tomorrow night, Dove would be in a new home. Sick and feverish but with a new husband next to him, a husband who, for better or for worse, would be his constant companion for the rest of their lives, giving him children, a home, and hopefully more kisses than bruises.

A painful lump began at the back of Eric's throat, thinking of Owen, pregnant and a stepmother, of Dovine, who would be gone in 12 hours, of his own fiance who promised him mercy and didn't even ask for his freedom in return, and suddenly his own bed felt so small and so empty at the same time.

)))(((

Dove looked like fresh hell as the other carriers sat him down in the bathroom the next morning, hair washed and skin scrubbed from feverish sweat and night oil.

"I'm sure we can salvage this," Tomas cood, topping Dove’s face up towards the lighting, appraising the bruises under his eyes.

Dovine looked unimpressed, and none too thrilled about being described akin to a DIY project gone amiss.

"Why don't we just put a veil over my face and call it good?" He asked morosely, and Tomas just tapped him on the lips to hush him.

"Because you're wearing a suit and a full veil looks tacky with a carriers suit," he answered matter of factly. "Besides, he'd have to lift your veil to kiss you anyway -"

'Dude, look at him, Kyle ain't kissing that!" Teased Perry, and Mama Tomas shot him a look.

"Be nice, Kyle isn't marrying him just cause he's pretty, he's marrying him because they're both a couple nerds."

"Yeah but they aren't married unless they kiss, right?" Asked a curly headed carrier from A Dorn.

"No, the kiss is just ceremonial," answered a very stuffed up Dove, trying to decide whether to dab at his leaking eyes or leaking nose first. "Once the judge says so, we're married."

"See, problem solved!" Declared Tomas, and he began to dig through Dove’s impressive collection of makeup for the right shade of pale to cover the red on his cheeks. All of this, for Eric, was terribly reminiscent of Owen’s wedding back on June- the crowd of carrier boys hovering in the bathroom, the nervous bride facing the culmination of their change, and his own anxiety. This time around, though, the unease in his belly had two very different points of origin. An old hat at carrier weddings now, and knowing Kyle a little bit, he wasn't too terrified about Dove getting raped on his wedding night, although one could really never be sure...no, his mind was clouded with panicked thoughts of his own imminent wedding, the empty room he faced that night, those books with their upsetting words following him from the dark of night to the bright August morning. Essentially. Eric McDaugh was feeling more and more each hour the reality of his approaching marriage. First Owen, then Dove, and next was him...although speaking of Owen-

"Hey fuckface, get me a chair."

God he loved Owen. He was at the CEC nearly every Sunday to visit and hang out, and often sometime during the week as well for a prenatal. He was 6 months along now, and finally getting round: Owen was tall and athletic so his frame hid the growing lump fairly well until now.

Eric did as he was asked, dragging a chair from the dining room down the hall to the bathroom, so he could get off his feet. Whether by his own choice or his husbands request, Owen was still growing out his hair, caramel blonde sun-lightened into a creamy gold, long enough now for a real, honest to god ponytail, and not the stubby bunny tail Eric could manage after 6 months no haircut. 

"Hey, Mrs. Miller, you look like shit."

"Love you too Owen," said the bride, reaching for another tissue; Perry offered to glue some lace to the box in lieu of a bouquet, and even Dove couldn't help but give a small grin as he scoffed. 

Honestly having Owen back for the day seemed to brighten Dove’s mood up a bit, and it was easy to see why. Owen was so easy going and took everything smooth as silk; his pre wedding cold feet was the most upset Eric had ever seen him.

"River started his gen studies classes on Tuesday!" He gushed to the room, always eager to brag about his little brother. "He loves it! And we finally got Dad a car update. Wouldn't take a new one, but this one at least doesn't have any duct tape on it!"

"Is it newer than your husband at least?" Asked Tomas, and he laughed when Owen tried to toss his water bottle at him. "watch it, this is precious work here!"

Owen rolled his light eyes, patting the top of his belly. "You ain't the only one knocked up, Tomas."

"What? Nah fuck that I meant Dove’s eyeliner! He might not mind the snot but I think Kyle might notice if his bride is missing an eye!"

Another bubble of laughter, coming easily from some, less so than the others. This was Zion’s first wedding, after all, and he looked absolutely ill, green in the face where Dove was pink from fever, and Eric tried to give him a comforting smile. It felt so fake; he was barely 18, and Zion was a grown soldier in his thirties, surely far more knowledgeable about the realities of the world than Eric. Around him, the chatter continued, but with each exchange Eric felt that the voices were getting further and further away, as was his brief bits of excitement for today's party.

"...hey, Eric, I think Tomas seems a competent makeup artist, wanna walk me to the kitchenette? I'm starving and can't bend down for shit."

Eric, unsure about leaving Dove alone, peered over towards the bride, but found him so drowsy from cold medicine that Perry was having to sit next to him to prop him up. Ok, yeah, he wasn't gonna be missed. Offering a fleeting smile, he nodded, and reached down to help Owen up.

"Jesus Christ how am I gonna do 3 more months of this?" Asked Owen out loud ad his back popped.

"Don't you mean how are you gonna do this for the next 20 years?"

"Short term goals, Eric, short term goals. How you doing honey?"

"Oh, fine, I'm good," Eric lied, walking slow so Owen could keep up.

"Oh bullshit, Eric. You coming down with Dove’s cold?"

"No"

"Period cramps?"

"No."

"Then you're anxious. You get this pinched look on your face when you're crampy or you’re anxious. You and your hot general set a date yet?"

Eric shook his head. "No, probably before winter though. Nebraska winters are just fucking awful."

Owen nodded his agreement, reached the kitchenette, and started prowling through the cabinets, at least having the decency to go for anything that had Dove or Eric scrawled on it in marker. Settling on a bag of banana chips, he sunk down at a tiny round table. 

"True that, man. A fall wedding would be pretty, maybe October?"

"Yeah, maybe...I guess we're just not in a hurry...Kharis works like 10 or 12 hour days sometimes? So it's hard to find the time, and stuff…"

"Eric?"

"Yeah"

"You always been this full of shit or do I just have baby brain?"

"...fuck off Owen," he sighed, helping himself to a handful of banana chips. Hell, Eric didn't even like banana chips, but they were there and he was stress eating. 

"Hey I call it like I see it, Eric...for real though you holding up okay?"

6 months at Stillwater and Eric had yet to figure out the best response to that question. At least with other carriers, he had the assurance that they could understand that "okay" was such a relative term. 

"...yeah, I'm okay," he sighed, crunching another chip. "Just...miss you. And I'm gonna miss Dove."

"Sure, kid, I get it, but you're not gonna be alone too long, ya know? It's usually only a few weeks before we get a new guy! And you're gonna be busy with your own wedding soon!"

"God you sound like such a carrier," came Eric's favorite comeback, and all Owen could do was shrug, give a "what ya can do?" Smile and lay a hand over his belly.

"...I wish I could be more like you," he confessed, and Owen appraised him mildly. 

"Why's that?"

"Well look at you!" Eric proclaimed, flinging both hands towards his friend. "You just...you took the change so well, and you're strong and your healthy and fuck man, you /do/ glow when you're pregnant, and your husband seems ok and you just.." here Eric let himself slump over the table, feeling the cold laminate leech out the heat from his chest. "I’m engaged and he's nice and he's smart and he's hot and he's rich, and I know that's suppose to mean I won the game, but I'm still stuck on what I could have had."

"...you gotta let yourself mourn, baby boy." Owens voice was soft as it flowed over him, and Eric closed his eyes to it. "You and I, Dove, Taylor, all of us, we got robbed. And playing along, getting married, even liking our husbands -"

"It feels like they're the ones who won," Eric breathed, and behind his eyes came that burning again. 

"Well, you're right, Er. They won. 'They' are the collective governments of nearly half the world, military theoceadies and dictatorships. They have legislature and guns and drugs and labor camps and barbed wire fences, and were just 7 out of 100 men who can't even walk outside alone without being afraid of being raped. They won as soon as the first men started changing."

"You're not fucking helping."

"Shut up, yeah I am, bitch, just listen to me. You know, not even very deep down, that there's no fighting this. Yeah maybe you can have a FIT and dig in your feet or try to run, but look at Zion and how that went for him. But on a large scale...you know there's nothing to hope for yet. There's not enough of us. Anything we do to fight is just suicide, baby boy, and it's not surrender or failure to want to just shut up and survive for now-"

"But-"

"/for now,/ Eric, " he finished in a hushed tone, his blue eyes darting around the room with a dose of paranoia. "We don't know what's going to change someday, or what opportunities we will have. But for now, it's ok to just want to find a little bit of happiness while we're getting married off and fucked and bred. ‘They’ don’t care if you’re happy or not, so you might as well find little things to be happy about."

Eric didn't really have much to say, and just let Owens words settle in over him, adding to the patchwork of anxiety and excitement keeping his heart beating. 

"I...Kharis, he...he said something like that," he began, struggling to string his words together. It just tool so much effort. "He said he isn't gonna pretend he can, you know, save me? But that but could be better with him, at least."

Owen nodded knowingly, wincing as his unborn baby began to kick at his side. 

"That's what Teagan told me, Eric, and he's right. A decent husband can be the difference between some measure of happiness and broken bones."

"Kyle seems ok too…"

"That he does...you really worried about Dove, Eric, or is this just making you scared of your own marriage?"

"Yes?" He quipped helplessly, staring up at Owen from his little makeshift bed, and Owen snorted.

"Ok, you want my advice then? Stop fucking around and get your ass married."

Ok that wasn't what he wanted to hear, but he just gave a skeptical look and allowed Owen to carry on.

"Don't look at me like that, this is just my way of seeing it. The longer you put it off the longer you have to worry about it, fear it, make yourself sick about it. So just set a date, asap, jump in, and go with it...at the very least just let him fuck you."

"/Owen!/"

"Grow up, Er, that's exactly what I'm talking about. The sooner you let him get his dick in you the sooner you can get the painful part over -"

"- till he breeds me-"

-and the sooner you can actually get the kind of sex you deserve."

Growupgrowupgrowup, Eric's brain ran over and over again, willing his face to not turn red. You're 18, you're engaged, you're an adult-!

"I-I...im just...its frightening," he said, determining that word sounded more mature than scary. "Letting another man have that kind of control over you, over your body…"

"Sure, Er, I know, we've all been there," he said, more kindly this time, adjusting himself in his seat again as his baby continued to move. "That's why you need to be proactive where you can be. Dove’s gonna be gone, you'll have the room yourself for a while. Take advantage of that-"

Oh. "You mean like, touch myself…?"

"Yeah. Listen, I left a lot of my books with Perry, I'm sure he'll let you borrow them if you need a little inspiration."

Eric pulled a face, remembering those trashy dime store erotic novels that Owen and a few others use to devour. 

"Ok I know they're dumb, most of them are just old women's novels rewritten to change the gender and add in another dick, but hey, porns usually just trashy, so whatever. Gets the job done."

"...I suppose, yeah...hey, Owen? Can I ask you something personal?"

"Shoot kid, I'm an open book."

He reached up, tugging a lock of blonde hair around one finger; "did it hurt, your first time with a guy, after the change?"

"Well, sorta. I’d fooled around enough before with my first guy that is already popped my cherry, so it wasn't so bad first time I actually got fucked- Jesus Eric please breathe."

Nodding furiously, Eric struggled to tell his lungs to inflate, thinking of Kharis’s hands on the top of his bare thighs, easing his legs apart, reaching upwards to where he was warm and wet-

"You got it baaad, Eric," Owen chuckled, grabbing another handful of salty banana chips. "I can see it in your face. Come on, you're a teenager, you're engaged to a fucking/babe/. Call him up, make a date, get some dick, man!"

Eric really, really wished he’d stayed with the entourage in the bathroom, even if it did expose him to the actual fucking plague.


	24. Reading Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapters rateing is E for Explicit, and from here on out there will be smattering of such chapters. Please let me know if you would prefer chapter rateings or if I should change the story rateing itself

Tomas was obviously a fucking witch because you wouldn't even know Dove was sick if he didn't keep hacking. Somehow he'd transformed his fever flush into a beautiful rosy bridal glow and tamed his matted hair into a pretty little braided crown. The happy couple sat rather than stood at the front of the altar, since Dive got way too dizzy too easily. The traded I dos, they traded rings, and when the judge declared that Kyle could kiss his bride, Dove sniffed audibly, to the amusement of the small crowd, and Kyle laughed, linking a hand behind Dovine's neck and laid a kiss to the middle of his new wife's forehead.

11 months of pain since Dovine became a carrier, and all it took was an 8 minute ceremony before he was Mrs. Miller. Easy as that. No more hoops to jump through, no more dealing with Jameson sniffing out a bride, no more of Taylor's classes...though Eric might miss those someday...Kyle was nice. Kyle would take care of Dove; Eric vowed he would kill him if he didnt.

There must have been some rush of adrenaline and endorphins pulsing through Dovine's blood from the ceremony, because he was actually awake, to a degree, enough to accept air kisses from his guests and cards held at arms distance. Teagan had ushered Owen away as soon as he arrived and found the bride infected though, fretting over his wife and their first unborn baby. Owen had not fought it, yelling at Perry to record it for him...would Teagan hit him for not obeying? Was he worried for his baby too? Jesus Eric didn't have the room in his brain for this, and tried to focus on his share of cake, wishing his fiance could have made it to the ceremony. He missed him…

Dove tried tossing his bouquet, but his drugged up aim ended up with his little bunch of flowers skidding down about 3 feet behind him. He didn't seem to mind, though, and just laughed, his smile staying even as his laughter turned into a wet cough. For lack of anyone else nearby, the other carriers avoiding the symbolism like the plague band Tomas too pregnant to reach, Eric scooped up the bundle of sunflowers, holding them tight in his arms, as Dove prattle on about what a beautiful bride his best friend would make soon.

Well...maybe. If he had to.

)))(((

Dovine and Kyle Miller spent their first afternoon of wedded bliss in Dove's CEC room, not making passionate love, no; Dove was having a fever nap, Kyle sitting up next to him watching videos on his phone, holding Dove to his side while he coughed. Honestly it was one of the most romantic things Eric had ever seen.

"You can come in, Eric, it's your room," Kyle assured him softly as he hesitated at the doorway, and he shrugged, slipping inside. 

"...You know I never got to thank you."

Rooting through his dresser for a pair of earbuds, Eric paused, looking over his shoulder. "Huh?"

"For introducing us," he elaborated, running his hand over Dove's shoulder; poor thing just gave another pitiful cough and snuggled down closer to his new husband.

"Oh...I mean, yeah...Dove use to do work kinda like yours, I think, and you're nice…"

Kyle have a lopsided smile, his unruly red hair starting to pop out of his carefully done comb and gel. 

"Yeah, Dove and I were actually at a seminar together once, didn't even realize! I mean...he showed me a picture of himself then, I'd have never recognized...and turns out he helped write one of the programs we use on old black boxes, from planes? To decrypt the old digital back to analog?...he uh...his name isn't on it anymore…" trailing off, he looked down at his new bride, shivering, trying to understand the implications of such a simple sentence. "I'll be good to him, Eric, I promise...I don't really know what I'm doing, but I'll be good to him."

Awkwardly Eric shifted from foot to foot, unsure of what to say to his ex boyfriend after having just married his best friend. The carrier romcoms hadn't prepared him for this.

"Just...just don't hurt him, ok?" Eric said softly, and before Kyle could insist he wouldn't, Eric spoke over him. "I mean, don't be cruel to him; because you ARE going to hurt him."

Puppy dog eyes turned from confused to hurt. "Eric...no, I'm not that kind-"

"Kyle it doesn't matter what kind you are, ok?" Eric pressed on, frustration bubbling up with his own lost stumbling. "You won't be able to help it. You're a man, he's a carrier...you know that legally speaking you own him now, right? Like a new car or a draft horse. They gotta make it that way, or else most of us would never agree to arranged marriages or 12 kids...you're not a carrier, and God willing you will never be one, but that just means you're not gonna have to know what it feels like to never leave your house alone again or know another man could beat you to a hospital bed and as long as he calls it marital discipline he won't get in a lick of trouble….you hurt us just by having what we cant, Ok? You're gonna hurt him the first day you go back to work and he's at home alone, doing the ironing when he should be designing rockets or whatever... you're gonna hurt him when PopReg says it's been long enough since his last kid...it's inevitable to hurt us, Kyle, just don't be cruel about it."

Eric's heart pounded as he finished, chest dampened from sweat, and he peered cautiously over at Kyle, expecting a virulent reaction, but he just nodded quietly.

"You, ah...you been holding that in a while, Eric?" He asked gently, and Eric stood quiet, wondering . 

"More like...I've been sorting that out for a long time…" Eric said whisper soft to a fragile room.

"...alright...have you told your own husband this?"

"Kharis isn't my husband."

"You're engaged aren't you? And you're still planning to marry?"

"Yes…"

"Then he's as good as your husband," said Kyle easily adjusting himself around his new bride as Dove tried to turn about in his sleep. "Tell him, then, what you told me, alright? That's who you're really wanting to say this to."

)))(((

Dove left before dinner, dragging himself from his coma long enough to promise Eric a proper parting as soon as his fever broke, that he loved him, to call him, to set a damn date so they could hang out again and do wife shit together. And then he was gone, and Eric was alone in their double bedroom. Just him, a quiet night, and a small stack of paperbacks he'd collected from around the dorn.

Jesus Christ is this what his life had become, cheapo paperback erotica? ...it's not like he hadn't read some trashy stuff before, he thought, looking over some of the covers. He came of age in a changing world quick to make sex objects out of carriers, despite them being simultaneously seen as pure and precious. Eric had spent more than one night poking around the internet for something to jack off to, and, yes, he's found some pictures or stories about carriers from time to time. He just never thought he'd be reading from this point of view.

"Pablo thought his life was over when he had to leave his prestigious job at the hospital after he changed, but playing nurse at the Lakeshore CEC proved to be worth it when he finds a handsome guard as his newest patient."

Really?

"Dani and Terrance may have had their share of trouble getting to the altar, but there's nothing that could interrupt their wedding night."

Eugh. This wasn't exactly his idea of a good time, but they had intensely limited internet access at the CEC, and porn was definitely not acceptable. Honestly by all intents and purposes the books ought to be banned too, but being written fiction rather than images or video meant the staff usually turned a blind eye.

Out in the commons room, the last few boys were starting to file to bed, tired from an unusually exciting Friday. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about being overheard. Finally he picked out a book, the one with the hottest man on the cover, and rifled through it to find the meat of the story-

/William's eyes were alight, unable to keep his hands off his bride any longer, and Adam shivered below him, struggling to keep his chemise down over his hips- ‘oh, historical romance, definitely one of those rewritten from a woman's narrative then-’ but his conqueror would have none of that.

“Come now my lovely little trinket, don’t hide from me,” William commanded with a low, purring voice, and Adam swallowed thickly as the highwayman prowled closer, arching his body above the carrier’s. “I have waited far too long for this.”

Adam raised his hands up, trying to press his forearms against this beast of a man, to keep him at bay, but he was far more frail than he.

“I...please, sir, my father will pay for me, he’ll pay very handsomely,” he pleaded to his captor, but William only chuckled, and leaned down towards his brides ear, his black scruff tickling Adam’s cheek.

“Hush, little one, I want nothing your father can give me when he has already produced you,” he murmured, and with a cry, Adam felt his rough hand climbing up his thigh, brushing away the silk of his chemise to find his cleft. Fingers, calloused from years of holding a horse's reins, were surprisingly gentle as they reached his lips, two brushing faintly over this warm, treasured secret.

“Sir...sir, please, I’ve never...nobody has touched me,” the young carrier begged, and he dug his heels into the luxurious bed coverings, trying to press himself away from those hands, further up the bed, but the headboard got in the way.

“Nobody?”

“No, my-! My father guards my virtue well, sir-!”

“Have you bled?”

Adam flushed a furious splash of scarlet, looking away with shame.

“I...of course, sir, but-”

“So you’ve had blood, but still your father hasn’t given you to anyone to be bred, little carrier? Is that what you’re telling me? So if I were to reach up, right here,” he continued, and his forefinger searched upwards, spreading his tender lips to find the softest parts, which quivered around the prowling fingertip, “I would find you intact?”

Adam could only bite his lip and nod, his tumble of dark hair betraying just how long ago it was he had changed.

“Oh, my darling,” William said gruffly, breath hot to Adam’s ear, “You have no idea how it excites me, to take your maidenhood. Let it be understood, my love, you are no longer the duke’s son, but my carrier.”

Adam felt the man’s finger enter his channel, eased in by his building slick and warm arousal, despite his insistence that such an act went against his heart’s very virtue-/

Jesus Christ this was criminally bad and Eric had absolutely no right to be as turned on as he was; he felt heat gathering between his own legs, those first aching, swelling pangs at his lips so unlike the easy hardening of his dick. He wondered, with a quick beat of his heart, if he was wet yet, and reached a hand down the front of his briefs to just...to check. A gentle touch to his hardening cock was delightful, but he was curious- God, yeah, he was already slick, and he took a shuddering breath, making himself keep his fingers there, rather than drawing them away in quick repulsion. It...yeah, the book’s right, it was really soft, smooth, and he traced two fingers lightly up and down over his slit, glancing back at his book.

/Just the highwayman’s finger alone seemed to stretch the virgin carrier to a painful limit, and he mewled, clawing at the man’s bare chest through his open shirt, begging him to withdraw.

“Oh no, my love, sh, shush now,” he soothed, kissing his brides cheeks. “This is good, my love, this is what God changed you for-”

“-He didn’t change me to be carried away!”

“He changed you to be a beautiful, holy giver of life, little one, not to be locked away in a big, lonely house,” William insisted, and he withdrew his finger slowly, agonizingly slow, until just the very tip remained in the carrier’s tight passage, before pressing in again.

“God, you’re so warm,” he growled, barely heard over Adam’s whimpers.

“I’m full-!”

“Nonsense, you’re made to take much more,” William insisted, and with a wicked grin, he withdrew his hand, his fingers glistening with slick, and made quick work of his own drawers, revealing a cock of impressive width and even more impressive length-/

Men were so obsessed with how big their cocks were, it was stupid, Eric though fleetingly, more interested in the two fingers pressing slowly up his own pussy. He could...he could do two, his fingers were thin, and they moved easily inside him; it wasn’t until he pulled them apart, or tried a third, that he felt this tight pinching, a ring of skin that wouldn't yield as easily as the rest of him did. In, out, in again, he fingered himself in a patient rhythm, bringing his thumb up to see if he could find- Ah! God, yes-! Yeah he could. Carriers kept their dicks, evolutionarily the same thing as a woman's clit, so they had no biological need to develop one, but often there was a sensitive little bundle near the underside of their cock, between where their balls had once been, that was especially tender, and it felt lovely to stroke from the back of his slit, over that little soft, delicate spot, and up his shaft, then down again.

He...he wondered how thick Kharis was…

/-Adam whimpered as his husband drew near, holding his thighs firmly apart and guiding the head of his cock to his tight opening, William making cooing promises that it would only hurt the once, and only a little-"/

-bullshit-

/Yet he cried out all the same as the swollen head began to part his lips, pressing in slow and steady until the ridge was locked tight inside, to both their moaning declarations/.

Eric let his fingers find his pussy again, two fingers fitting easily, and slid them in, out, in a sweet rhythm

/"My beautiful carrier," William groaned, his broad shoulders hunched and flexing with the urge to sheeth himself entirely within his bride. "My prize- are you ready for me?"

Tears fell from Adams eyes, knowing his answer held no power in this marriage bed. William pressed forth, the thickest part of his manhood putting intense pressure on the virgin channel, and finally there was a sharp cry, and the carriers body yielded to him entirely. 

"Shush, there's my good boy, good boy," he cood, lying flush to the carriers breast as he soothed him through his wedding night pains. "Its over, little carrier, hushup now, you're ready for me now aren't you?

Adam could only gasp, the pain of his broken maidenhood mixing with the intense pleasure of being filled so completely-/

His own breath starting to come in pants, Eric hesitantly pressed a third fingertip against his slit, seeing of, wet as he was, he could ease it in. He took it slow, but as he arched his hips up, his third finger eased inside himself, stinging but somewhat pleasurable at the same time. He used his thumb to massage that tender spot, and the vein up his cock, wriggling to make himself fit better.

/"God, you feel so good," William breathed, sweat beginning to glisten on his sculpted chest as he sheathed himself properly into his carrier, hips undulating in a strong, steady rhythm as he made love to his bride. "So perfect "

Below him Adam's heart pounded, the first pains nearly forgotten, and his lips swelled around his lovers shaft, as soft and slick as his lover was hard. Adam's own small cock dripped between them, a watery fluid helping it to slide against Williams belly and add to his pleasure.

"So beautiful, this is what you needed, little carrier, a real man to fuck you, to breed you-"/

Men loved that word, Eric couldn't help but think derisively, but with his mind entirely on his cock and pussy, he just wanted to hear it fall from Khariss lips-

/"Y...yes!" Adam whined, suddenly unable to get enough of his husband inside him. "Please, god, please finish, I want to feel you spill in me, please breed me-"

"Of course my bride, I want to feel you throb around me-"/

Eric couldn't come just from his pussy, and it was starting to hurt; his book forgotten at his side, he reached his other hand down, slicked it with his own body, and stroked his shaft in quick, short jerks, timing them to the fingers in his pussy. As terrible as the book was he couldn't help but imagine himself on an old canopy bed, a white gown pressed up around his waist to allow his husband, his Kharis, access to what was his, leaving blood beneath him on the sheets to prove it was Kharis who had taken him first-!

Eric grit his teeth as he came, spilling just a few drops of a thin, milky liquid, his cunt spasming around his fingers over and over again. Slowly, Eric came down from his high, his body warm and satiated, and withdrew his fingers. They glistened in the lamplight, slick, but no blood. Alright then.

The clock read 10:12. Not so late, really...with a post orgasm fuckit attitude, Eric grabbed for his phone, quickly going through the 3 numbers it was programmed to call, and dialed his fiance, immediately terrified. Did he want him to answer? What if he was asleep? What if he was so mad that he woke him up that he called off the whole wedding and Eric had to marry some 80 year old and-

"General Page."

"Kharis!" Eric called out, so loud and so eager that he was sure he could see Kharis wincing on the other side of the phone. But, he laughed, seeming delighted to hear from his bride to be.

"Hello love," he said, and Eric could hear the smile in his voice. "How are you?"

"I...I just wanted to hear your voice," Eric said, hoping Kharis couldn't hear the breathlessness still on his lips. "I miss you…"

"Oh, baby, I miss you too. Honestly I think the men here at security are already sick of hearing about you."

"...you're telling people about me?!"

Kharis laughed again, light and easy. "Of course, I'm engaged now, gotta let all the guys know I'm off the market you know!"

Rolling his eyes hard enough to be heard over the phone, Eric wished he could hip check his fiance.

"Sorry, couldn't resist, love."

"Its fine, asshole...hey, listen, Kharis? I wanted to ask you something."

"Anything, baby," Kharis replied immediately, and there was a shuffling, as though he were checking for both his car keys and his checkbook.

"So you know how were going out on Sunday, to meet up with your brothers family?"

"Yes?"

The pile of books lay next to him, one still pressed open against the sheets, and Eric shifted with a small amount of discomfort. 

"I was wondering if maybe I could come over a little earlier?"

"Oh. Well, dinner is at 6, so if you want I could pick you up around 4 or 5-"

"Nono," Eric stopped him quickly, gathering all his courage. "I was thinking earlier. Like. Tomorrow night earlier?"

Kharis paused, letting Eric's words work themselves out in his mind so he didn't fuck up a reply.

"Oh...so You mean...you want to come over Saturday night, for a date we have Sunday -?"

"I want to spend the night with you, Kharis," he finally spelled out, knowing Kharis had assumed as much but was too much a gentleman to put those words in Eric's mouth. "I...I wanna stay with you. Alone."

Silence carried over with a bit of dead space static, and Eric held his breath, fiddling with one of his books, fanning the pages. When his fiance spoke again, there was a rich, deep tone to his voice that Eric had never heard before, one that had Eric's cunt warm and eager again.

"...I think that can be arranged, my little bride."


	25. Baths and Bedsheets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....ok y'all this chapter is almost 12,000 words and half of it is straight up porn so grab a drink and get comfy

Waking up alone in his room was a jarring and unpleasant experience, and compelled Eric out of bed quickly despite being a lie-in worthy Saturday. Warm August sunlight streaming through the window, no classes, he could have curled up for a few more hours rest, or clambered into Dove's bed for a chat, but Dove wasn't there. Bastard left the night before with his fancy new husband to his fancy new house with his decidedly less fancy head cold...poor fucker. Eric hoped he was doing ok, at least sleeping off the fever.

...yeah he couldn't be in the room right now. Grabbing Bartholomew and his blanket, he headed to the commons room to make a nest in the window seat, the perfect place to set a trap for poor, unsuspecting carriers.

Tomas was his first victim, due in equal measure to his incessant need to pee and the fact that he had obviously had sex before. That was all Eric needed to know to decide to stalk him.

"You're a creepy little fucker you know that Eric?" Tomas asked with an early morning grumpiness as Eris trod with him down the hallway to the bathroom. Unpeturbed, Eric just hopped from foot to foot, waiting for Tomas to make his way down.

"I know, I just...I have like 9 hours before Kharis comes to pick me up and sleepovers at Mike Harps house in 4th grade playing Sardines in the barn doesn't exactly prepare you for fucking your husband for the first time ya know??"

Tomas said nothing, just left Eric at the sinks as he hobbled over to a urinal to do his bussiness, answering him only after he washed his hands.

"You're working yourself up over nothing, kid," he sighed, turning to examine his face in the mirror for morning drool. "You a virgin?"

"Not as a boy…"

"Well it's not so different as a carrier," he soothed. "You have something to drink, you talk about what you want, pick a safeword if you wanna get kinky. Only difference is there's some more shit at risk if you decide not to use a condom."

Eric scratched the back of his leg with his foot, noting the hair that still felt scratchy and long.

"...do you think I should?"

Tomas turned the handle at a sink and reached under the cabinet for a towel as the water heated.

"...I can't make that call for you, Eric...honestly you might not be able to make that call for yourself, you know that right?"

"Well….yeah..but Kharis said we could wait until I'm a little older, till I'm ready…"

Tomas wet his hands, scrubbing at his eyes, and ran a brush under the stream, flicked out the excess water and began to pull it through his wavy brown hair.

"Well...I hope he keeps to that promise," he said with slow caution. "But you're...we...we can only run so long, ok?"

Instantly bristling, his nerves not mixing well with a less than stellar talk, Eric huffed, "you're one to talk."

"Actually yeah I am," Tomas retorted. "I hid this almost 5 years before getting knocked up and caught, but I still got knocked up and caught, is the point. I dunno kid, if Kharis is a good guy, and he lets you wait, then wait. Just don't be so surprised if you get to your marriage bed and he conveniently doesn't have any condoms."

Fucking helpful.

Target number 2 was Zion, who was steadily coming down from his mass of drugs and sedatives, enough that he could pretty much hold full conversations now. True, he was a level 1 and far from dating as a carrier, but he was older, worldier, and has gone through life not only as a military man, but as one who was intended to a carrier. 

"Do you think most guys are really that bad?" He asked Zion, sitting next to him on a porch swing. The awning kept the late August sun off their faces, which Zion needed; it was trying for him right now. 

"Can you be more specific?" Headed the younger carrier, hesitant but not unkind.

"Um...like...do you...did you talk about carriers a lot, like locker room talk, I guess?"

"Hum...sure, I guess, but we, ah, we talked about cadets the same way, boyfriends back home...I mean, you're still a guy, Eric, you're a teenager, I'm sure half of what you talked about with your friends was about sex."

"Well...I guess, yeah, but we didn't know any carriers, we were all way too young to ever date one, so we never really...I mean…" this conversation was not flowing well, not with Eric's confusion halting his words and Zions lethargy dulling his understanding.

"I...I'm gonna spend the night with my fiance tonight? First time, and um...I guess...if it was your first time with a carrier, before you changed, would you be, like, patient?"

Something harsh crossed Zion's eyes, his chest shaking as he swallowed a deep breath, and Eric knew his mind was on the fiance he had lost.

"...yeah, Eric, I was gonna be. I mean...fuck, man, there's no use lying to you, nobody applies for a carrier wife unless they want someone who's gonna keep house and givem kids, someone who follows them. Maybe some guys don't realize it outright, but most enjoy feeling powerful. Doesn't mean they're gonna be douches about it, but everyone wants to feel in control...sorry if that's a shit answer kid, but-"

"But it's a shit world, I've heard. "

)))(((

Taylor was the lucky prize behind door number 3, and Eric was honestly surprised that ha was given permission to call. Maybe being engaged to a major general had its perks. Or maybe Taylor left instructions that he was open to chat with his kids, Eric didn't care, he was just glad to see Taylor's face on the computer screen.

"Look at you baby boy, looking all grown up!" Taylor beamed, and Eric tried to not focus on the bags under his eyes.

"Heh, yeah, had my birthday last week. 18 now."

"And looking so pretty! Look, Kaylin, doesn't Auntie Eric look pretty?"

Kaylin, all fat cheeks and drool, was very busy sleeping in a wrap around his mother's chest, bright blue to match the scarf tied around his hair (when Eric complimented it, Taylor laughed and said he hadn't washed his hair in 10 days.)

"How's Tori taking the new baby?" Eric asked, mostly to be polite but also quietly wanting to squirrel away future information.

"Honestly I dunno if he really understands yet that the baby isn't gonna go back to the store," Taylor confessed with a half smile. "But he likes him ok so far...its gotta be hard on the first kid. They get a bite of being an only child, then boom! - oh, sh sh Kaylin, momma didn't mean to frighten you!"

Poor fuck, the both of them.

"Um...so, uh, I'm...I'm staying with Kharis tonight " he said offhandedly, hoping Taylor couldn't tell how violently he was jiggling his leg to work off his anxiety. He carefully watched every little tick and change of Taylor's face, unsure how sweet Mrs. Park would take this upfront unwedded tryst.

To his relief, Taylor just nodded. "Ok, sweetie, if you're ready for that then good for you."

"Ah, right, yeah...but I was wondering, uh…"

"Eric honey, you can ask me anything," he coaxed, patting his hand softly to Kaylin's back. "Trust me, hard to be shy after you birth two babies."

Fucking /ew/. "I know...it's just...hey do you think I should shave my legs?"

It looked like Taylor was trying very hard not to laugh, it really did, but he, unfortunately, failed at this, though he was quick to reign it in.

"Honey no, I'm not laughing at you, just at the situation, and I'm so fuck- uh, darn, so darn tired right now, I'm sorry," he sighed, continuing to sporadically giggle. "It...it could be something to thing about sweetie, but I'm more a proponent of letting your husband see uour body as it naturally is. I didn't do anything besides keep myself clean for Kim, and after he saw me with Tori in the delivery room, well, it really gives you a fresh perspective on what beauty is, honey."

Yeah no he did not call for a poetic philosophy lesson about the wonders of childbirth and how it would bring him and Kharis closer together, he honestly just wanted to know if he should shave his legs or pits or twat tonight so he didn't gross out his fiance.

"Ok, yeah, yeah sure, I know, but...do...does he...should I wear makeup? Dress up? I don't...god Its so weird asking advice when you've got that thing strapped to your chest. "

Raising an eyebrow, Taylor glanced down at his newborn and then back up at Eric through the webcam. 

"Well Eric sweetie how do you think I got Kaylin?"

"Omg ew, no, you're practically my mom, Taylor, I don't wanna think - shit no don't cry, don't get all sappy on me, you're just hormonal-!"

Taylor Park was not the most help but it was nice to talk to him all the same.

)))(((

It was remarkably easy for Kharis to sign Eric out for an overnight stay, considering what a pain it was just to take him out for dinner. Again he had to weigh this reliefe against the fact that Kharis outranked every man in this building by at least 2 steps, and that Eric was now his personal possession. Lovely. Fuck it.

"Ready to go, babe?" Kharis asked brightly, and Eric nodded, letting his fiance shoulder his duffle bag. Honestly there was very little inside, as he didn't know what to pack. A clean outfit for tomorrow, the dress he would wear to meet Jamal and Daisuke, toothbrush and underwear and a few pads because his older CEC brothers had taught him to never go anywhere without a few...Bartholomew would stay behind and guard his room till he got back. He may not know much about what to expect on his first night with Kharis but he did jnow that bringing a stuffed animal was not only the highest faux pas, but also beyond childish.

Kharis seemed to notice how light the bag was, but Eric hopped to his side before he could say anything.

"Hey, s...sweetie, I'm ready!" He said, putting on his brightest smile as he took hold of Khariss hand. The general smiled calmly back, giving his hand a squeeze, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles.

The air hit his face like the open door of an oven, hot and dry, the prairie wind whipping his hair into his eyes. He wished his hair was long enough for it to all stay pinned back, like his fiance's.

Ever the gentleman, and ever the man to never let his bride out of sight, Kharis opened the door for him, and make a quick jog to join him.

"...it's weird being out without a chaperone," Eric said quietly over the purr of the engine, buckling himself in, and Kharis nodded, distracted as he pulled out of his space.

"Guess they finally trust me to look after you," he said, flashing his pass to the guards at the gate to let them out. "Which actually reminds me, Eric; I think we need to lay outnl some rules for this afternoon-"

Oh sweet crucified Jesus Kharis was starting in on this so early?!

"I need to make a couple stops in town, and I want to make sure you're safe."

Oh. Oh ok that's better, that's not as scary, and he let out the tension he'd already gathered in his shoulders.

"Oh...okay, like...how?"

"Well...first off I know you're a grown man and you're not stupid or a child," he preceded, his voice a mix of cautious and calming, and Eric already knew he wasn't gonna like this. "But you're also a carrier, and to some men, that's all they're gonna see."

Eric shifted in his seat, glancing at the street outside, the people killing down the broken sidewalks who had no idea what was driving past them. "Yeah, I know...pretty sure that's all Captain Jameson sees us as."

Kharis's breath caught in his chest, and he cast a furitive glance over to Eric, tempted to take a detour down that route, but he seemed to quickly reevaluate that decision.

"Indeed...ok, first of all, while we're in public you are to hold on to me and not let go of me for any reason. If I don't feel your hand, I will absolutely be turning around with my gun in my hand, is that understood?"

"Yes, s...Kharis," he promised solemnly, both of them wincing at Eric nearly calling him Sir. Silently he glanced to the waistband of Kharis's uniform, his gun prominent in its holster. Huh, he didn't think Kharis was on duty today, and he wondered if h'ed put on his navy and stars just to intimidate men.

"Good. Second, you're getting to, ah...a point where it's more obvious you're a carrier," he pressed on. "Your face is soft, your hips are wide, your hair's long enough to hint, but if you feel more comfortable trying to blend in, we can stop at my house and you can change into more male clothes."

Eric looked down at the loose cut pants and pale cream blouse. Mother of pearl buttons and 3 quarter sleeves marked his clothing as very clearly Carrier.

"...no...no, I'm ok" he said after some thought. "I'm a Carrier, and they would guess that by how I'm close to you anyway. I mean yeah you're old enough to be my dad but let's just be real Kharis you're really obviously not my dad."

"Fair," Kharis laughed, shaking his head and reaching over to give Eric's arm a quick squeeze. "Alright, hon, is there anything you need while we're out?"

"Oh I don't have any money," Eric dismissed immediately and, pulling to a stop light, Kharis shot him a look that Eric could only describe as 'bitch really?'

"Eric do I need to buy you a ring to remind you that were engaged to be married?"

"No…"

"Well then, hush. You're my bride to be, and I know you don't have a lot of personal things with you at the CEC to bring, so if you need anything, for the bathroom or any spare clothes, just ask me, darling."

"...ok, Kharis," he agreed, awkwardly fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, and his fiance nodded once, satisfied.

Kharis pulled the car into the lot of a small drug store, and Eric knew to stay put until Kharis got the door for him, took his hand, and held it tight as they crossed the sidewalk into the store. God, it had been almost 7 months since Eric had been in a shop, and it was almost surreal...he felt exposed, and was honestly glad for Kharis's muscular body to all but hide behind as they wove in between aisles, picking up a handful of daily sundries, toothpaste, soap, ibuprofen, and - ah. Yeah. Eric should have realized they would end up in the aisle that read "family planning".

"Do you have any prefernces, honey?" Kharis asked far too casually, picking up a little black box of condoms.

Grow up, you're an adult, came Eric's inner monologue, slowing his breath and reminding him this was good, this was ok.

"Um...not really, no...I don't even know what my boyfriend used before? I've never actually ah, bought condoms before."

"Fair...ok, these one's are specifically for carriers, suppose to be smoother-"

Something in Eric's belly twisted as Kharis called him by what he was, in public, within earshot of god knows who. 

"Ok...those sound fine, then...should….should we buy any, you know, lube?" And he praised himself silently for using his grown up words.

Kharis nodded, and they spoke quietly to pick one out, should Eric need any, ah, help, from his nerves.

Eric could imagine that one would feel awkward and stared at any time their purchases involved such things, but it occurred to him that this had to be worse than it was for other men. This just advertised further what he was, and what Kharis intended to do with his little breeder that night. Jesus Christ, he was sure everyone was staring at him, from the old guy buying arthritis cream to the kid barely holder than him who rang them up. He couldn't get out of that store fast enough, and had no trouble honoring his husband's order to not. Let. Go.

Kharis seemed just as relieved to be back in the car, and Eric wondered if he was just nervous to be parading his Carrier bride about in public. 

"Anywehre else you want to go sweetie? No? Alright then, home."

)))(((

Kharis lived on street East K, as opposed to, he supposed, West K. Made sense. The single bedroom houses on Fort Wardon base were rows and rows of identical buildings, white brick, brown shingles, a tiny yard, single car garbage, enough space for a man to live alone or with his (male) partner. 

Funny, he'd have expected a 2 star Major General to live a bit more luxuriously, but he guessed the real prestige came from talking a wife. From marrying Eric.

Even here, Kharis wanted to be at Eric's side, looking about with a responsible amount of paranoia. More than one soldier was out in their yards, sitting on porches with an evening drink, chatting with a neighbor, a few jogging down the street, and Eric knew for a fact that each and every one of them saw him and knew what he was on sight. Oh the joys of being a sheep on display; he graciously slipped through the front door once Kharis had unlocked it, taking in his fiance's little home. Immediately he could smell the mingling of clean laundry, bleach, and a little dust, marks of a man who was good at keeping himself looked after in a daily sense but wasn't much for those bigger, irregular housekeeping projects. Indeed, the laminate floor was clear of clutter, but the shelves had a grey film on them. The open plan living room ran smoothly into the kitchen, where the dishes were clean and out away, but the laundry by the dryer looked like if it wasn't a uniform, it never got folded. Well...that made sense. Kharis worked 50-70 hour weeks, and spent s good deal of his spare time these days at the CEC; this sort of housekeeping was going to be Eric's job now, that was just obvious.

"I'm sorry I don't keep a fastidious house," Kharis said sheepishly, guessing Eric's judgement without a word. "But I promise you wont find any mold in my kitchen or piss on my bathroom floor."

"I don't doubt it," Eric said as an apology for any judgement Kharis might have read. "You always smell good, so-"

Shit did he really say that? Maybe Kharis didn't -

"You think I smell nice hm? Good to know you like my cologne, should I send you home smelling like me?"

Notice. Shit.

"...there are worse ways to end my weekend," Eric responded quietly, a half flirtation given to the wall. He jumped slightly as his fiance's warm hand laid across the small of his back, and turned Eric down a small hallway.

"My bedroom is down that way, bathroom next to it. Why don't you go put your things away, I'm going to look through the pantry to scour our dinner options and hope I have something to feed my bride."

Eric nodded and was quick to obey, slipping down the hall to Kharis's bedroom. Obviously he had put all his spare time that morning into making it immaculate for his fiance; the sheets and comforter had that freshly washed smell, and were made without a single wrinkle. Military precision, Eric couldn't help but smirk as he laid his duffle bag out on a chair by the window. The nightstand was out in order, no clothes on the floor, not even a spare sock. That was...nice, actually. This was as good a place as any to re-loose his virginity...Jesus christ.

"Babe, how about shrimp fried rice for dinner?" Kharis asked from the kitchen, and Eric laid the grocery bag down on the edge of the bed, treading back down the hallway.

"Sure, sounds alright, you got leftover rice doncha?" He asked, right as he entered the kitchen to see Kharis guilty holding a container of takeout rice. "Yup. Knew it."

And Kharis laughed, something Eric was starting to really love about him.

"At least you're thrifty," Eric teased, and stood around feeling like an awkward fucking lump, alone with a guy who was still getting to know in a house he's never been in.

"...alright there little carrier, get your great lazy butt over here and help your husband with dinner," Kharis chided, a glimmer of anxiety passing over his face, as though he were uncertain if he'd teased too far. But Eric just scoffed, rolled his eyes dramatically and slunk across the kitchen to stand before his intended.

"Alright, Major General, ready to get shamed by a Carrier?"

"...I'm so sorry but the only retort I can think of is very sexist and this kitchen is full of knives, so I'm going to leave it to you to start chopping peppers while I change out of my uniform."

As Kharis slipped down the hall, Eric had to poke his head out after him, to let him know he was on to him, slipping out of work! Fine, then, he could start dinner on his own. This was what he'd be doing if he was living back at his dad's anyway, or even probably if he had enlisted in basic training since he doubted a scrawny kid like him could avoid kitchen duty. And...and this was what Carriers did, right? Maybe it was a good idea to show his fiance he had /some/ decent Carrier skills, then. So Eric rinsed 2 bell peppers in the sink, poured a can of corn into a strainer to drain, and got a head start on chopping by the time Kharis reappeared, having traded medals and stars for flannel and jeans and, god, he was cute. He wore his shirtsleeves rolled up enough to again see a sliver of that tattoo, and with a flush heartbeat Eric realized that if everything went to plan tonight, that would be among the less interesting things he saw.

"Bout time, lazy," he teased, watching Kharis tie his hair back into his bun, quicker and messier now than what he wore to work, pencil thin curls popping out around the elastic. 

Kharis just smiled softly, and instead of grabbing a cutting board to join Eric at his side, he slid in close behind him, cupping his right wrist to still the knife. 

/Jesus/

"Sorry, my love, but I couldn't stand army shirtsleeves a minute longer," he sighed, and Eric could feel his body heat soaking towards him through his back. "...Can I tell you I like seeing you in here without sounding sexist?"

"Isn't that the kind of remark that made you kick yourself out of the kitchen?" Eric wanted to know, carefully returning to cutting the peppers into bite sized slivers. 

Kharis made a noncommittal little 'eh,' laid a kiss to the top of Eric's head, lingering just long enough to breathe in the scent of his freshly washed hair, before slipping over to wash his hands and grab an onion.

Between the two of them, it took less than 15 minutes to turn some veggies and a bag of shrimp into a decent looking meal, their voices carrying sporadically over the rhythm of knife to wood, oil spattering in the wok. Eric shared his favorite recipes, the one's he made for his dad and his brother, his mac and cheese, bratwurst and bierocks, biscuits and gravy. Kharis mourned for the extra hours he would have to put in at the gym, with such a talented wife at home, Eric suggested that there were better ways to wear him out.

Holy shit he did not actually say that Jesus Christ when did he turn into such a whore ok yeah that was a totally planned response cause he wanted to sound flirty and enticing and make himself attractive but it's still embarrassing and-!

"Plenty of time for that too, my bride," he replied with a soft, simple voice, but there was something in the curve of his lips and the narrowing of his eye that told Eric very clearly that he thought that was a wonderful idea and wanted to make good on it later.

Eric just turned his back, knowing full well he was giving Kharis a full view of his ass, and spooned several hot shrimp onto a plate, foisting it at Kharis.

"Shut up and eat, Bunhead, " he sneered, turning back around to fix his own plate, and oh he could just hear Kharis sputtering behind him.

"Bun...excuse me?"

Eric shrugged, taking the bottle of wine from the fridge, and two glasses. "That's what I call you when you piss me off. Bunhead, causa that little ballet ball you got going on."

Kharis took several moments to collect himself as his fiance just popped on by to the dining room to set down his plate before sighing back, "you don't like my bun?"

)))(((

Honestly Eric didn't like wine much, especially white wine, but he needed something in his hands, something to keep his mouth wet as he curled up near his fiance on the couch after supper. Dishes rinsed and waiting to be washed, the last bits of sun fighting against the blinds, they each sipped at a glass as Kharis showed Eric a few photos of his year as a cadet, when he was just a little younger than Eric, and he took his brides teasing with dignity, even if he did seem determined to defend his bun. To return the favor, Eric took advantage of Khariss unblocked internet to get into his old social profiles, ignoring the walls of text from months ago, friends wondering where he was, to go through his photos, the last batch from a new years eve party with his soccer team.

"You look wasted," Kharis noted with mirth to his voice, showing Eric's flushed cheeks, but the Carrier argued the point.

"Naw man, it was just negative 9, snowy, and I'd been fighting with Neil Cory over some stupid video game," he dismissed, a pang in his chest. He use to worry about the stupidest shit…"oh, this one's good, took that to send to an old boyfriend."

His bedroom selfies were hardly pornographic, but they weren't the classy military portraits Kharis showed wither. Tight t-shirt showing the muscles he use to have in his arms, a bit of fuzz around his cheeks in the backlight. Smooth skin now, much...much more appropriate for a carrier, he guessed. 

"You look hot," Kharis admitted with a lilt to his lips, and Eric had to scoff around another tiny sip of wine.

"I was 17 there, perv," he accused, as though he were not 17 when they started dateing. 

"...well, little Carrier," Kharis murmured after a silent moment, and reached over to close his laptop lid with two fingers, the magnetic latch catching with a /tick/, "you aren't 17 anymore."

In leui of anything sexy to say back, Eric just took another sip of his glass, only to find himself downing the last few drops. Staring dejectedly into the empty cup, he reached for the bottle, but Kharis was faster and held it just out of reach.

"No. I am not going to be intimate with a frightened, drunk Carrier. There's no way that will turn out well for either of us. If you're scared or you're not ready, that's fine. You're welcome to stay. We can watch a movie. I can sleep on the couch if you aren't ready to share a bed. Or we can sleep together, get use to being near me. And you can have more wine for your nerves. But if you're still willing to try tonight, I want you sober and clear headed."

Kharis Page had this infuriating habit of being very thorough in his arguments, to the point where Eric was unable to fight back or even sulk without making it very clear that he did so to his own pain and detriment. There was no force, always the choice left to him, but Kharis was quick to lay every card on the table. So, of course, Eric leaned forward, and placed the glass onto the coffee table, the noise loud as a pistol.

"I...I wanna try," he told his intended, struggling to look Kharis in the eye rather than stare down at his own hands. "But if I change my mind-"

"We stop immediately," Kharis assured him, and when Eric nodded his understanding, he raised his arm to the back of the couch, making of himself a warm, inviting pocket where Eric could move closer.

Eric accepted, eager, at least, for that heat, for the smell of his cologne mixed with his skin, the oils he used in his hair. He even dared to lay his knee over Kharis's thigh as he leaned his cheek against his shoulder. When he brought his arm around the Carrier's shoulders to keep him close, Eric sighed.

"...hey, Kharis?"

"Hm?"

"Have you ever...been with a Carrier?"

"...ah, no," Kharis admitted, almost guilty, as his hand reached up to pet through Eric's hair. "But I have been with women...it's been a while, um, before you were even born, of course,, so I can't promise you that I will be a knowledgeable lover at first, Eric, but I want to try." He turned slightly, pressing Eric to do the same, and his hand left his hair to cup underneath Eric's chin, tipping his face up, and Eric a breath caught at such a snall, intimate act. "I want our first time together to be alright. Maybe not amazing, or earth shattering, but I don't want to hurt or traumatize you wither, ok?"

Eric nodded, and Kharis opened his palm, cupping Eric's cheek now, and he struggled to keep hold of himself.

"Its been 18 years since I was with a w...with someone like you, so please tell me if I hurt you, or do something you don't like...or if I do so.ething you /do/ like," he added with a bit of a tart grin, and Eric make a half choked giggle in return.

"Ok...I'm just...ok, Kharis. I wanna try, too."

This was not the heart stopping romantic banter carriers and their husbands exchanged in those government movies, before the screen faded to black, but it was what Eric needed to hear, at least, and he let his eyes slip closed as Kharis eased him forward, keeping his face tilted up, and laid his lips gently against Erics. Wine still clung in small drops, sharp and sour, and Eric let the taste melt into his own mouth, sighing almost imperceptibly soft as Khariss hand moved from his chin to cup his cheek. Eric adjusted himself too, sliding a little closer to his fiance, parting his lips as he moved, and Kharis took it as an invitation. Tip of his tongue tracing Eric's bottom lip, the carrier tensed up, just briefly, before willing himself to relax, and to remind him he actually really, really liked kissing. There was just something close and giving about it, and he parted his mouth further, letting Kharis inside. Unlike the over eager teenagers Eric had previously as partners, Kharis was slow, sliding his tongue into Eric's mouth without rush or frenzy, and Eric breathed him in, salt and wine and his own sighs as he tried to match. Feeling just the slightest moment of confidence, he pulled away, just far enough that their lips barely touched, and traced his tongue over Kharis's bottom lip, teasingly slow. Immediately he was rewarded with a strong arm around his hips, half pulling and half guiding him onto Kharis's lap, and Eric was quick to understand and accept the invitation. He couldn't help but think that he fit there very well, thighs aside Kharis's narrow hips, back curved to be flush against his belly and chest, and Kharis's hand stroked between his shoulders as they kissed, slow movements becoming more interested, more curious. Eric's breath came quicker, and beneath his hands he could feel Khariss heartbeat hasten, and something in him reveled at this, at being the reason a man as powerful as Kharis Page could sigh into his mouth, could react as he did. Brazen and getting just a little turned on, Eric adjusted himself over his lap, feeling the unmistakable swell in Kharis's jeans, and he took a deep breath to remind himself, it's good, they're engaged, they're gonna be married and Kharis thinks he's beautiful and enticing and exciting-

He wasn't ready to feel Kharis dip his fingertips down the back of his pants, wanting to feel his ass, and the shock wrenched him out of his arousal fueled fog, jumping back with a sharp gasp.

"...I'm sorry, Eric, did I scratch…?"

"Nono, I'm ok!" Eric rushed to cover himself, but he was shaking beneath his fiance's hands now, and he could all but feel the blood draining from his face.

Kharis appraised him for a long moment, black eyed rising from their laps up to his wan face. A not so distant conversation must have sparked inspiration, because he then took Eric's hand, stroking the back softly. 

"Alright, baby, how about a bath?"

)))(((

His bathroom was small, with a pedestal sink, a medicine cabinet, and barely any counter space, but it had a surprisingly nice tub, a deep corner one, with a wide ledge around 2 sides, more like a small bench than anything else. Kharis stopped the bottom, and turned the knobs to let out a rush of steamy water.

Awkward as ever Eric stood to the side, his bare feet rubbing against one another on the tile floor. "Should I...should I undress?"

"Well that is generally how one has a bath," Kharis answered, as though hoping his laughter might settle his brides nerves. It...didn't hurt, but it also didn't get Eric to move. "Do you still want-"

"I do!"

"Ok, then, would you feel better if I stripped first?"

"You make it sound like you're gonna put on a show for me," Eric groused, trying to not picture the general on a spinning pole.

"That could be arranged," he grinned, "but it would be only fair to ask your own performance in return."

Immediately Eric's mind flashed to how he spent the night before, legs splayed wide, rubbing and fucking himself off, and he felt another warm, wet rush in his panties thinking about doing such a thing in front of Kharis.

"I...I'm alright, I can go first," he assured him, and Kharis said nothing, but there was no hiding the hunger in his eyes as Eric toyed with the hem of his knit blouse, pulling it up just enough to show his (for now) flat belly before he paused.

"So shy, baby boy?"

Eric fiddled with the hem of his shirt, twisting it about in his hands. "We ah. .at the center, they usually say carriers shouldn't be goin' around shirtless."

Kharis pursed his lips, thinking about this. "But why?" He wanted to know. "You're an unbred carrier, you don't have breasts to hide."

"Not yet," Eric echoed the sentiments and warnings given to him. "But we're supposed to get use to it…"

"Hm. Even so, darling, I'm to be your husband. You can show me. Surely you use to walk around shirtless all the time?" When Eric still couldn't find the will to remove his shirt, Kharis beckoned him closer. "Here, shall I undress you?"

Those words went straight down to Eric's pussy, and he felt a warm, pleasant tingling between his legs as he stepped slowly forward. Sitting on the edge of the tub, Kharis was about eye level with Eric's collar, and he took an arm around his waist, drawing the Carrier close between his spread legs.

"There, that's better," said Kharis, and he gently pried Eric's hands away from his shirt before slipping his own beneath, just over the warm, pale skin of his belly. "You're safe, Eric, you don't need to be shy around me, you're safe."

He tugged up the hem of Eric's shirt, sliding it easily over his skin, and Eric raised his arms up to help get the garment over his head. He struggled to find something to do with his arms as Kharis tossed his shirt carelessly towards the sink, settling on crossing them awkwardly about his chest.

That, it seemed, wouldn't do for General Page, who took both of Eric's wrists to guide, not force, his arms to his side.

"You're beautiful, Eric," he sighed, and once sure his fiance wasn't going to retreat from him again, he released his arms and laid a hand to the small of Eric's back, and the young carrier groaned softly as Kharis pressed his lips to his sternum. Soft lips, just a day of stubble scratching his skin, it felt sinful to feel Kharis's breath on his chest. "Beautiful."

"You...you only say that because we're getting married," stammered Eric in a near whisper, part of him wanting to shove Kharis away but a growing part willing him closer.

Slowly Kharis raised his spare hand to the waist of Eric's linen pants, hooking a finger and pulling down one hip; Eric had noticed that most clothes he owned made for Carriers had drawstring or elastic waists, which he figured must be to accommodate rapidly changing bodies.

"No, I say that because it's true, I revel in it because you're my bride," he corrected, tugging another inch as he left kisses across Eric's chest, finally pressing his lips against a nipple. Eric shuttered, that part of him having grown more sensitive since the change, and he let out a short breath when Kharis traced over it with the tip of his tongue. Perhaps it was how long it had been since Eric had gotten laid, perhaps it was the indoctrinated taboo he had developed about his bare chest, but it felt deliciously naughty, and provided a good distraction as Kharis slipped Eric's pants down his thighs. Now he stood only in short carrier briefs, the thin yellow material making 2 things very clear; Eric was hard, and he was wet. And oh, dear god, he knew Kharis noticed. His expression said so, the interest written clearly in his coal dark eyes.

"Can I?" He asked, running his fingertip over the waistband, and Eric swallowed hard, raising his arms around his fiance's shoulders. "...I can feel your heartbeat, Eric."

"Im scared…"

"I know, darling, I know...we don't have to, but if you want to, I promise to make it good for you," and he punctuated thus oath with a breath of warm air across Eric's wettened nipple, making the small carrier shake, another throb running from the root of his cock through his lips.

"....ok. But let me do it?"

Take control, Owen said. Be powerful and control your own body while the option exists...fine. He could do that. Though reluctant to leave the warmth of Kharis's arms, Eric took a half step back, slipped his thumbs under the soft waistband of his underwear, and drug it down over his hips. The tip of his reddened cock came into view, followed by it's short shaft, tufts of blonde curls, and the soft cleft underneath. He dropped his pantines, stepping carefully out of them, and again struggled with where to put his hands. He wanted to cover the pink stretch marks over his hips, but placing his hands there seemed too proud…

"...God, Eric…" He knew from there that Kharis couldn't see much he couldn't see in his own mirror. His cock was on the smaller side of average, curved and hard against his belly, and the bit of hair he had distracted from his lack of testicles. Many carriers had soft pads of skin left behind where they had been, intensely sensitive, padding the pubic bone and serving to make their split seem more pronounced, but that wasn't so obvious with his legs pressed tight. Could Kharis see how wet he was…? Why did that seem so much more shameful than a hard on?

"I...I'm cold...can I get in?" Eric asked quietly, and though reluctant to tear his eyes away from his bride, Kharis agreed, and helped him into the tub, and finally it was Eric's turn. Kharis, to be expected, had little anxiety about stripping down and made quick work of his button up and the t-shirt underneath, pulling the taught black fabric over his hair and, good lord, even through his anxiety Eric couldn't help but appreciate and think of himself as a damn lucky Carrier. Of course Kharis would be strong and physically built; nobody got to be a major general in the army with brains alone, but seeing the broad curve of shoulder to bicep, the planes down his chest and abs, and Eric needed to press his legs together a little tighter. Of course his jeans came next, and black boxers, showing he had hardly lost any of his erection since they started making out. Not as long as some men might want to be, Kharis was still impressive, and made up for it in thickness; Eric, under the cover of water, let his hand fall between his legs, running a finger down his cleft and over his lips, his quivering pussy unsure if his size was frightening or a delight.

Kharis's larger body displaced a fair amount of water, and it lapped around the center of Eric's chest now. He turned awkwardly in the water, to face his husband, who couldn't seem to see enough of him.

"You really are so, so beautiful," he whispered again, and bashful and wanting to shut him up, Eric leaned forward, hands on his shoulders, to offer himself to be kissed again. Of course Kharis accepted, and this time it was quicker, not yet frantic, but with a deeper sense of desire. It...it felt good, Eric couldn't deny, when Khariss hand tangled in his hair, keeping his head still as he copied Eric, drawing back so their lips only ghosted one another, the tip of his tongue wet and warm as it traced Eric's cupid's bow.

For lack of anything else to do with his hands and, on a more personal note, wanting to know how his husband felt, Eric let his hands wander down from his shoulders, one down onto his chest, the other down his arm; for the first time, he saw them, puckered, pale lines and blotches across Kharis's shoulder, reaching out of sight behind his back and up the side of his neck. Burn marks, looking like they ran deep, and he tried to not stare, and to divert his attention back to what wouldn't upset his fiance. Like how he was 100% sure that he couldn't wrap both his own hands around even the smallest part of his arms, and the power and control and protection such a norion held drew a small moan from his kiss-swollen lips.

Obviously enjoying the little stroke to his ego, Kharis smirked, steam starting to leave a glisten to his brown skin. "Not so bad huh?" He asked, showing that bit of cockiness Eric assumed from all officers, and he drew both arms around the carrier, wetting his shoulders with one, circling his narrow waist with the other. Eric's first instinct at being held so close was to press his arms to Kharis's chest and push, to test their strength, though he knew they would hold firm.

"If you want me to let go of you, all you have to do is ask," Kharis whispered, his voice husky, rich, a tone Eric was hearing more and more. "But you're safe with me, baby boy, promise."

And Eric nodded, feeling assured of that, if only in the heat of the moment, and he let himself feel Kharis's embrace as something protective rather than restrictive. Safe, he had told him over and over. He's safe here…

Emboldened, Eric let his hands run lower down his would be lovers body, down past the water line, over the sides of his abs and the coils of muscle down the sides Eric didn't know the name of. Above his navel, his fingers found the first bits of hair, and he drug his forefinger lower, feeling his belly ripple at the tickling touch, and they both gave a nervous half laugh, which died out the moment Eric forced his eyes up towards his husbands, and let his fingers rest along the base of his cock. Kharis let out a soft, appreciative breath, and it took everything Eric had to not look away in embarrassment as he wrapped his fingers, one by one, around the broad shaft, realizing with another untraceable flutter that he could barely touch his thumb and middle finger together if he held tight.

Kharis seemed to like that, at least, and he leaned backwards slightly, letting his shoulders rest at the edge of the tub.

Ok...this was ok, Eric had a god damned dick too, Carrier or not, and he knew what to do with one. With soft hands, he floated his touch over the shaft, weightless in the hot water, to explore over the thickest part, tracing over the bulging vein, towards the softer skin, and finally letting his touch explore the rimmed edge of the head. Another gasp from Kharis’s lips encouraged him forward, and he found his husband circumcised, broad, and seemingly getting harder at his touch, which...m...made sense, of course, sure. One finger traced along the bottom, over the pulsing slit, and then circled the tip, another joining before he dipped back down to hold the heavy shaft again.

“That’s good, Eric,” he murmured, eyes heavy lidded as he appraised his Carrier’s work. “I’m going to love feeling your hands on me, babe.”

Blushing, Eric just focused on the prize in his hands, reaching down to cup his balls in his left hand, the weight so familiar and yet, after so long without his own, foreign as well, and he gave a soft squeeze to the handful, finding it pleasing to his mate, and stroked his shaft in time again. Curious, for his own scientific and sexual education, Eric let his thumb wander down, below the vein, between his cock and the seam of his balls, to that spot where a Carrier was so tender and sensitive, and while Kharis seemed to be enjoying this play as a whole, he gave no specific reaction; Eric’s pussy, though, clenched at nothing at this promise of touch, and he whimpered, shifting his hips in the water. And, of course, Kharis noticed this, and his lust-darkened look deepened.

“My bride,” he whispered, and Eric had to retreat for space as Kharis sat up, putting Eric in his arms again for a moment, admiring his heat pink skin and how his hair was darkened from the water. Playfully he twirling a lock around his finger, the water dripping back down to the tub. “It’s gotten so long since I first saw you.”

“You mean since I spidermonkeyed my way up the junkyard in the computer room?” he laughed, and Kharis only grinned. “Uhm...do you...like it long?”

“I do,” Kharis responded after a moment, thoughtful. “But I like it short too, you looked playful, wild. Keep it how you wish, my love.”

Now those are the kinds of words Eric wanted to get laid to, and he gave a half smile, admiring Kharis’s shoulders as he leaned around Eric to grab a white cloth and a bottle of body wash.

“Turn around?” Kharis asked him in a quiet voice, “Let me wash you.”

"O...okay," Eric whispered, letting the water whirl around him as he followed his fiance's directions. Behind him he heard the bottle uncap, and smelled a cool, minty scent as Kharis worked the gel into a lather and pressed the bubbles softly to his back. It was cold, comparatively, so he yelped and arched his back, covering it up with nervous laughter, which Kharis joined. A strong arm slunk around his waist, holding him near as he scrubbed slow circles down his back, his shoulders and over his arms, the suds trickling down to froth at the water. It felt pleasant, his hand at his hip, soaking up his sides. It was relaxing, and he all but purred as Kharis cupped his hands to rinse him off...and then let out a small gasp as he was pulled back to lie against his fiance’s chest.

“There we are my bride,” he laughed, kissing the top of Eric’s head. “Just relax, ok, Eric? I’ve got you.”

He nodded slowly, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, letting his body melt into Kharis’s as he did so. Kharis started at his shoulder, small circles with cold, frothy gel, tickling skin that honestly hadn’t really needed a scrubbing; he’d had an hour long shower before Kharis picked him up, getting himself obsessively clean, but this was still, God, a great idea, and he linked his arm through Kharis’s, holding on to his upper arm as he washed over his chest. The washcloth brushed tantalizingly against his nipples, and by now, Kharis had absolutely noticed how sensitive they were, and seemed to pay extra attention to them, first with the cloth, and then abandoning it to feel him with his bare hands. Slick from soap, his fingers danced with little friction over his wet skin, tracing down his sternum, his pale chest, and each of his dark pink nipples, giving one a soft pinch that made Eric’s back arch.

“I didn’t hurt you?” he clarified, massaging the spot with the pads of his fingers, and Eric’s response was a soft moan.

“No...no, feels good,” he sighed, sinking down another inch into the water, feeling Kharis’s hardened cock against his spine. “They just...get sensitive now, around different, ah, times of the month. Chest hurts sometimes too, but now it….feels good.”

So Kharis continued to lath him in attention, laying kisses to his temple and around his ear as he traced the back of his hand Eric’s sides, around his ribs, feeling the muscle and fat that would eventually develop into breasts; such a thought put a confused pit into Eric’s stomach, though, and he tried to not think about it, concentrating instead on the hand splayed across his belly now, a finger dipping into the ridge of his navel, and another hand running down from the top of his knee, to his thigh, and then inwards-

“Eric?”

“Y...yeah?”

“I’m going to touch you now, between your legs, is that alright?”

Everything south pulsed, and he squeezed his already closed legs further together for a moment, sighing at the friction, before parting them slowly in answer. Kharis was eager to take up the invitation, pressed on his thigh to part his legs further, and Eric watched his hand dip below the surface of the water, finding his dick almost instantly. Another deep moan left his lips, not realizing from the hot water how neglected his cock had felt until it was touched; Kharis could hold the entire thing in a loose fist, and did so, giving a few slow, gentle tugs, before running two fingers up, gently tracing the stretched foreskin and the slick head above it.

It was kind of him, Eric thought, to spend so much attention there, running his thumb over the slit, stroking him softly, when he knew where his husband’s curiosity really was, and he didn’t fight Kharis when his hand finally went to explore further. First he reached for where Eric’s balls had once been, gently cupping the soft mound below his cock, his middle finger finding the start of his split and probing him gently open.

“...Are you alright?”

“...uh huh…”

“You’re shaking.”

"Just.,.just nervous,” he breathed, which was true, but he was also achingly tense, with two of Kharis's fingers just a hair’s breadth away from that flat little bundle of nerves, and he couldn't help but round his hips a little bit, gritting his teeth at the sensation.

More kisses to his cheek, and Eric let his head lul to one side, fluttering his eyes closed as Kharis’s lips finally found that soft spot beneath his ear, suckinf gently, as he slid his fingers down. Eric gasped as his touch reached his inner lips, Kharis groaning in appreciation against his throat.

“You’re so soft…” Kharis huffed, his breath unsteady against Eric’s jaw, and he nodded vaguely, then groaned low when Kharis hooked his leg around Eric’s, to pull his thighs even further apart for his access, and Eric fucking loved it; at this angle the tip of his penis brushed the surface of the water, suds providing just the idea of stimulation, teasing him almost as bad as his husbands fingers teased his soft inner lips. In the water, most of his own lubrication washed away, but Kharis was slow and delicate, prodding more than stroking, and he knew better than to push himself in when he came to rest at his entrance. Both panted, Kharis from anticipation and care, Eric from anticipation and anxiety. And also the painfully building, throbbing ache in his pussy, the way he could feel it opening up at Kharis’s fingertip, fluttering around it enticingly. God, he wanted filled, he wanted fucked, and all it took was a shared look between them for Kharis to pull the drain, wrap his bride in a plush blue towel larger than he was tall, and fucking /carry him/ to bed.

“Won’t I get your sheets wet?” Eric asked, even though the towel was already drying up much of his skin, wrapped loosely around his shoulders. 

Kharis, eager for his Carrier, just shook his head dismissively, lowering himself down onto the bed beside him. “Baby if everything goes well tonight they’ll need washing anyway,” he said with a devious little smile that had Eric’s heart skipping. He reached beneath Eric’s chin again, as they sat facing one another, legs entangled, and brought his face up for a furious, deep kiss, which Eric returned, his arousal wiping all his inhibitions, replacing them only with his desires. As Kharis bit playfully at his tongue, Eric reached forward, wrapping his warm hand around Kharis’s cock, giving it a firm squeeze, delighted to hear Kharis moan.

“God, yeah, That’s good, baby, boy,” he praised, those words heating his cunt further, his own cock almost painfully hard now, and beginning to drip. Not nearly as much as Kharis’s, though, and he spread the precum around the head with two fingers, able to wet down the whole head with it, and the underside of his deep ridge...God, he wanted that in him, but it also made him nervous, wondering how Kharis would make it fit.

As his nerves surfaced again, and his lips stilled, Kharis stroked his cheek, held them brow to brow and asked, “are you doing ok, Eric?”

“...I’m just nervous. It...it’s gonna hurt…”

“Yeah...it can, baby, the first time, we’ll only go as far as you want-”

Eric shut him up with his lips, sealing them over Kharis’s own, and he ground himself forward, sliding their cocks together between their bellies.

“I want your fucking dick in me, Page,” he whispered, breath hot against Kharis’s lips. “I don’t care, if it hurts I’ll deal with it then but right now all I want is your dick in my cunt.”

God the sound Kharis made, Eric was pretty sure he broke his husband, but was proven wrong within a moment as he quickly found himself flat on his back, breathless, with Kharis pressing his thighs apart at the knees, and Eric was only too happy to let him, savoring the look on the general’s face as he finally surveyed his prize. 

“You’re so beautiful, Eric,” he breathed again, tracing the back of his hand from Eric’s knee, down his inner thigh, to trace around his cunt, ghosting fingers, only daring to touch, tracing the root of his aching cock, massaging the soft skin where his balls had been.

“Sh...shut up,” he blushed, but his protestrations turned to breathy sighs as Kharis pulled his fingers straight down, back and forth gently over his slit.

“You're soaked,” he murmured, pulling his fingers back just enough to rub his thumb against them, testing how slick his bride had gotten, and Eric nodded vaguely. “God, baby, and I did this to you?”

Another dumb nod, and Eric couldn't’ hardly stand it anymore, and arched his hips, circling them as enticingly as he could, whimpering to his husband that he /hurt/, please- and Kharis was happy to comply, and pressed one finger cautiously into Eric’s pussy. One finger, and there was no resistance, dripping wet and aroused as he was, and Eric pressed his head back, open mouthed and eyes half lidded as he felt Kharis slide into him, slowly, till he reached the back of his channel.

“So warm,” he sighed, pulling out just a little, and then back in, fucking him with his index finger; Eric’s mind took a fleeting turn back to that filthy novel he’d read last night, the highwayman and his captive bride, how the Carrier had given in to his lust, letting it overtake his fear, and suddenly he wondered, if that was the point of those sorts of stories. They took away the guilt of surrender, allowed the bride to enjoy what was bound to happen to them anyway...well. Still stupid, he thought, though his pussy clenching around Kharis’s finger said otherwise.

So dazed, so focused, his eyes closed, Eric didn’t understand what he was feeling for a moment, something warm and pliant tracing his lower lips, till he peeked his eyes open and looked between his legs, only to see Kharis’s barely kempt curls, his face buried between Eric’s thighs, tongue tracing his cunt. Jesus Christ.

“Kh-Kharis,” he stammered, shock and humiliation taking over; it wasn’t that he hadn’t had guys suck him off before, he just...he hadn’t been ready for his husband to want to eat him out.

“Hm?” he asked lazily, tracing his tongue obscenely from his slit up to the root of his cock. “Do you not like it?”

Eric had no words, just gaped stupidly, but the moan he let out as Kharis set back to work was all the answer his fiance needed, and he let himself sink back onto the bed, focusing on Kharis’s lips pulling tenderly on the soft, slick skin around his opening, how he dipped just the tip inside as he pulled his finger nearly all the way out. When he finally licked all the way up the shaft of his cock to lathe at the head, it felt so fucking good he barely even noticed Kharis sliding a second finger inside him, not till it was buried to the last knuckle; two of Kharis’s fingers were just a little bigger than 3 of Eric’s and it burned, but his lips sucking the head of his cock felt so good he didn’t even mind it; the pain was enticing, dangerous, just something to add an edge to his growing pleasure.

“Kharis...ooh, I like that,” he moaned, listening to the wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of his cunt, just a little faster now as he gave his cock a harder suck. “That’s so good…”

Kharis seemed delighted to hear this, because he hummed pleasantly, the feeling striking Eric straight down, and he pressed his hips up, for more of that contact, and brought a hand up to play absently at his chest. The way Kharis had licked at his nipples earlier, pinched them, had felt wonderful, and he wanted more of that feeling-!

“Kharis...Kharis, baby, you’re gonna make me cum,” he warned with a half chuckle, expecting Kharis to back off, figuring he’d want to finish first. That’s what their books and pamphlets taught, at least, that it was more important for the husband to get off; a Carrier’s orgasm wasn’t necessary for conception, after all. But Kharis seemed unphased, and in fact gave a harder suck, taking more of Eric’s cock into his mouth, and Eric’s breath began to come in quick, short pants.

“Kharis...God, Kharis, that feels good,” he breathed, letting his hips writhe in time with the thrusts of his hand, Eric's own fingers twisting into the slate gray comforter below him. From his mouth spilled an embarrassing melody of groans and whines as his body was pushed further and further towards the edge.

"Ugh! Huhn...Kharis? Kharis, baby, I'm gonna...gonna cum-!"

With a deep groan, he did as promised, his legs tense and his stomach taut the moment it swept through him, his entire pelvis convulsing as he began to spill his small bit of cum into Kharis's mouth; he was so overcome that his pleasure nearly canceled out the quick burn of having a third finger stretching his entrance. 

"Wha- ohh, god," he mewled, the last echoes of his orgasm still ripping through him, that burst of pain mixing in deliciously once more. 

"Is that too much baby?" He asked with trepidation, but when Eric shook his head, he grinned, rubbing his other hand along Eric's thighs. "Ok, baby, good, good. Thought that would help you relax, huh? If you got off first?"

Eric nodded, lazy and relaxed, his body opening for his husband, slick and warm, as he pressed his fingers in deeper.

"That's my good boy, my beautiful Carrier," he praised, leaning down to lay kisses over Erics belly, up his chest, giving a quick bite to one nipple, before reaching his lips. Eric offered himself to be kissed, wanting to know how it would feel as he had something moving inside him. Answer; fucking amazing, and it seemed like the last euphoric wave of his orgasm wasn't leaving, Kharis's stimulation keeping his body awake.

"You ready, baby?" Kharis asked, voice hot and breathy in his ear, and Eric nodded, though he swallowed thickly as he did so.

"I..I am...and you'll ah, you'll use a condom?"

He was already reaching into their shopping bag as Eric spoke, tossing aside the lube because obviously they didn't need /that/, what with Eric leaving wet marks on his bed. Gentle as he could he pulled his fingers from his bride, opened the box and made quick work of it, giving himself a few firm, wet strokes. Eric pressed himself up into his elbows, watching Kharis palm his own heavy, reddened cock; he couldn't help but reach down, mourning the loss of contact, and wet his fingers in his own slick, rubbing his tender lips, then up to that sweet spot, whimpering as he did so.

Kharis's eyes narrowed, watching his Carrier touch himself, as though it were the most erotic thing he could imagine, and he seemed reluctant to force Eric's hand away from himself, but it was sort of in the way. He took his wrist, and pressed it near his head to the mattress, not so hard as for Eric to feel trapped, but just to have a taste of his strength and self control. 

"Go slow?" Eric implored, watching Kharis guide his cock between his legs, and he nodded, eyes soft despite their lust.

"Of course, love, " and the broad tip of his cock finally parted Eric's lips, smooth and steady as he pressed forward. It didn't take long for Eric to feel stretched, just a moment longer to start to feel full, but there wasn't any sign of pain until the widest flare of the head was pressing into him, and by the time he could let out a small yelp, Kharis was already inside, held firmly in place and panting from the exertion of staying still.

"Youre...you're so thick," he groaned, and as Kharis curved his body above him, Eric laid his hands to his chest, bracing himself.

Fucker, he could see the pride that flashed over Kharis's face, before it softened.

"Is it too much, love?"

"No! No, I just...I'm ok...move."

Kharis didn't need to be told twice, didn't want to be told twice, and slowly he pressed forward, laying kisses to Eric's throat and collar bone as his cock forced its way into him, aided by how wet he was, his tired his body; the pain was quick, though, sudden, a moment's burning followed by a deep, sharp sting, and he pressed his hands to Kharis's chest, willing him to stop, just for a second, stop. And he did, straining, breath heavy, but he steeled himself, his cock almost completely buried.

"...darling it's ok, I know you're sore, it's your first time," Kharis assured him, stroking his heated face, but Eric shook his head, because yeah, it hurt a little, but there was pleasure building again too, from all the waiting and the stimulation and how Kharis's toned belly drug over his oversensitive cock-

"...I'm ok," he promised his fiance, squeezing himself around his cock. "It...kinda feels good too...just fuck me, Kharis, please."

"Baby, I-"

"Fucking fuck me, General Page, or I'll finish myself off without you."

That's all it took, and Kharis held on to his bride as he slid himself in, panting, Eric making small noises between a whine and pained gasps, but he wanted this, he was ready for this, and once Kharis started to fuck him, the pain blurred out, that burning sensation not enough to make him want to stop. The way his husband filled him was satisfying, and he loved the ragged sound of Kharis's breath, loved the way his dark skin shone from sweat, the way he bit at his bottom lip. 

"Eric...god Eric, you feel so good," he groaned, leaving another biting kiss to Erics neck. "I love you, baby boy, god-!"

Eric squeazed his eyes closed, gasping at how intense it felt, his dick hitting the back of his channel, not painful, but so /real/, something he felt low in his belly, and he laid a hand there, to steady his body, only thinking in passing as to the image that could send. 

"God...god, I'm close, Er," and Eric nodded, grabbing hold of his arms, round his neck, whimpering as he pounded into him, still obviously holding back, and Eric knew their first time wouldn't take long, not with how they'd spent the lasr hour connected by the lips, how Kharis's eyes had been on him since March. He willed his body to relax, finding pleasure each time Kharis entered him, even if though against a growing ache. Soon, Kharis's breath grew erraric, and then he stilled, shuttering, and pressed his brow to Eric's shoulder. They stayed joined for several moments longer, both panting, as Kharis softened, and slowly slid out from his bride, throwing away the used condom and running his calloused hands over Eric's wet thighs.. 

"Did-" pant "do you need-"

"Honestly babe I don't think I can again," Eric said, soothing the ache in his lower belly. "I don't need to, but it...it was good-"

"I didn't hurt you?" And god the look on his face, lost and almost puppy-like, earnest, and Eric offered the most soothing smile he could, considering he was exhausted.

"No, no babe, you didn't," he assured him, and welcomed Kharis's weight as he settled down next to him, bringing him close. "Kharis that was...feeling you inside me…!"

His emotions were raw right now, and he grit his teeth, not trusting his voice. He was afraid he might cry, and worry Kharis further. Yes, he was sore, he hurt, but he was still in one piece which is better than he could have hoped for when he first changed. 

"I...I love you too, Kharis."


	26. Kicking Doors

Eric slept nearly the whole night through, sore and exhausted and content, waking only once to use the bathroom, at which point he half-awake pulled Kharis's t shirt on, to guard against the night chill. Eager for more sleep, he crawled back into bed, fitting himself beside his fiance, who stirred just enough to pull Eric tight.

When he woke again, it was mid morning, sunshine streaming past the closed bedroom curtains, and he could hear music muffled from the kitchen. He drug himself up, wincing as his hips turned just a little wrong, tender, bare skin brushing over the sheets, and made his way to the bathroom, grabbing a clean pair of briefs from his duffle bag on the way. Splashing some water on his face and brushing his teeth, he felt better, though he couldn't be assed to do more than run his hands through his hair before he puttered out to the kitchen. Sizzling reached his ears, and he peered over the breakfast bar on tip toe.

"Pancakes?" He asked, his voice still groggy from sleep, and Kharis turned at the stove to smile at him.

"Yup. Um, from a mix. Any time I try to make them from scratch they end up flat and oily."

He snorted, and let himself into the kitchen, scooting himself up into a bar stool that was a good 4 inches taller than he would like. With just panties and Kharis's shirt on, he wasn't surprised at all when his fiance eyed him up and down, slowly, not even trying to hide it. To this, Eric pinkened, and pressed his knees together.

"Baby boy I've already seen everything," Kharis pointed out, giving just enough attention to the stove to flip a pancake, eyes back on his Carrier. Eric just blushed deeper.

"Yeah well!"

Kharis was disciplined if nothing else, and managed to get his shit together long enough to slide a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of his bride, apologizing that it was turkey.

"Grew up not eating pork, and it kinda stuck, " he explained, but Eric didn't care; apparently getting fucked was a workout because he was starving. Away from the prying eyes of the CEC, he all but drown his cakes in maple syrup, the real stuff, not the high fructose corn syrup kind. Side eyeing his fiance the whole time, he was pleased to see that Kharis didn't seem to give a shit how much syrup he ate on his pancakes.

"How are you feeling?" He asked kindly after they'd settled down into their plates, and Eric shrugged, taking inventory.

"Not bad...I mean, good honestly, I'm just a little sore, still...we don't...we can wait a while, before we do that again, right?"

There was this look that passed over Khariss face sometimes, when Eric mentioned Jameson, or the books he was reading in his CEC classes, remarks his doctors had made. It was something difficult for Eric to read through Kharis's usual stony, no nonsense exterior, but it looked a mix of pity, agitation and sorrow, a brew that left Eric feeling guilty and embarrassed.

"Eric, I would hope that went without saying," the general said calmly, stirring cream into his coffee. "That was your first time since your change, I'm sure it was as heavy on your emotions as on your body. I would like very much to make love to you again, and soon, but today, you rest."

With downcast eyes, Eric nodded, concentrating on his pancakes, and hoped his fiance didn't press the issue or decide they needed to talk, and now. But Kharis seemed pleased enough with Eric's small affirmation, and they ate breakfast in peace, the tinny radio playing old folk country music; Eric didn't care for it much, and made a mental note to discuss shared custody of the radio dial and CD tray.

)))(((

Kharis and Eric passed their day in what the Carrier could describe as calm and casual, in a way, though there was the unavoidable undercurrent of awkward tension expected with someone in a totally new place. This house was not home and, indeed, would not be home; Kharis was approved for "family housing" on base and would be assigned a lot as soon as they set a wedding date. A new bride should have his own home to nest into, afterall, with plenty of bedrooms for children. Yay. Thus it was hard to feel settled in, even with Kharis around as a buffer, and he was glad when it was time to leave for dinner, which was Japanese, cooked in front of them on a giant hot plate, Eric having green tea ice cream for the first time. Unable to decide if he liked it, he ate his whole bowl, still confused, and immediately wished he hadn't as they paid, got in the car, and made their way across town to meet with Kharis's brother.

Eric had somehow not actually focused much on the culmination of their night out, nerves keeping it numbed down, but now that they were on their way it hit him like a punch to the stomach, upsetting the yaki udon and ice cream.

What if Jamal was mean? What if his Carrier was a bitch? Was he dressed appropriately? Should he have worn pants? What if their kid was ugly in person and he accidentally said so? What if he got his period on their couch? What if-

"Baby if you're going to be sick tell me so I can pull over."

"...I'm fine."

Kharis clicked his tongue. "No, you're pale as shit, even for a blonde-haired white kid, so please, I would rather you puke in the ditch, ok?"

Eric swore he was ok, really...really.

"Honey, you don't need to be nervous, ok?" Kharis promised his carrier softly. "He's a good man, a doctor. He doesn't abuse his wife, he's not going to treat you like trash. I wouldn't bring you to the home of a man like that."

Eric nodded, though he knew Kharis wasn't looking, and peered out the window as the houses got larger, the yards. A family neighborhood, for the well off. Made sense. Only wealthy, notable men were given Carrier brides. They pulled into the driveway of a grey and white stone house, two stories, the lights lit warmly in the late evening sun; even here, though, Kharis escorted him out, and Eric maneuvered himself carefully. He still wasn't used to sitting or standing or, well, existing in a dress, and he felt constantly exposed. Yea, yup, shoulda wore pants, shit, they were already heading up the sidewalk, into the porch, ringing the bell, god he WAS gonna puke, he shouldn't have eaten-!

"Kharis! Hey man, been too long!"

Jamal was handsome, just as he was in his photo, a few more lines and a few more gray hairs than Kharis had, but trim, healthy and showing a winning smile. He gave his younger brother a firm hug, slapping his back hard enough to make Eric wince, but Kharis just returned the gesture in like.

"Sorry I haven't been out lately, with graduation season at the academy flooding the base with idiot cadets, I've been swamped."

"Hey, your loss, Kharis, you're missing out on Jun's potato phase-"

"Stop calling my baby a potato!" Came a playful voice from beyond the door, and the two men laughed, Jamal finally turning eyes onto Eric. He very much wanted to hide behind his fiance, feeling as shy as a child meeting a distant relative for the first time. 

"And this your bride, Kharis?" Jamal asked, surveying Eric with no small amount of interest. "Eric, right? Pleasure to meet you, Eric."

Somehow remembering his manners, Eric nodded, and held his hand out to shake, but when Jamal took it, he raised it to his lips instead, kissing the back of Eric's hand. He stayed still, though his face blanched, having ...not expected that, and it took him a minute to take inventory of himself, his dress, the pins in his hair and swipe of mascara. This man had never known him as a boy, only as a carrier, and was mooore than old enough to miss a world of women.

Amid their laughter, Eric got his shit together enough to smile, chuckle awkwardly, and thank Jamal for the invitation. He and Kharis were lead inside, and he had to stuff down the instinct to hold on to Kharis's hand as though they were out shopping again.

The house was nice, with a high ceiling, light wooden rafters and windows a good 7 feet tall; during the day, the living room would be full of light, bright and open, and he liked that. The furnishings were expensive but lived in, and already being taken over by an assortment of baby blankets and soft rattling toys.

"Hello, Daisuke! You're looking beautiful as ever," Kharis greeted immediately upon seeing his brother in law, and Daisuke Page chucked a pacifier at him.

"Sure, Kharis, tell me more stories, " he laughed, but honestly Eric agreed. Daisuke had a soft, pale face, warm brown eyes ringed with dark lashes, black hair pulled into a short messy braid. Sure, he had the tired, sleepless look of a new mom, but honestly that was just short of being a Carrier default if you asked Eric. With a soft figure, warm, strong arms holding his baby in his lap, Eric couldn't help but think he looked cuddly, but considering he was probably still carrying baby weight and Eric had not one single clue as to Daisuke he felt about that, he would keep that to himself.

When the older carrier caught sight of Eric, standing shy and unsure by Kharis, he waved awkwardly, not wanting to let go of the baby, obviously.

"Eric, this is my brother's wife, Daisuke, and Jun. What's he now, 2 months?"

"Almost 3," his mother replied, patting his back. "But he's still a little small; doc says he's fine, just takes after momma."

Kharis walked closer, to get a better look at the potato in question, and Eric figured he'd better do the same. Besides he was...cautiously curious. He'd only seen a baby in real life once, and that was 4 years ago, long before he ever thought about changing, or marriage, or motherhood-

Well, honestly he didn't think baby Jun looked like a potato anymore. It was definitely human shaped now, with a small nose and black curls, most of his face obscured by a pacifier he seemed very content to have. He was even still little enough to have light eyes, from what little Eric could see through the babies squinting, despite both his parents having brown.

"Wanna hold him?"

Shit what.

"...huh?"

Daisuke was looking at Eric, there was no mistaking that he was asking this of his husband or Kharis.

"Jun, do you wanna hold him, Eric? I just changed him like 10 minutes ago, so he even smells good, promise."

Huh. Babymoon phase must be over if he was that eager to shove his spawn off on a stranger, Eric thought, and gave a nervous smile.

"Uh...yknow, I dunno, I think-"

A firm hand took hold of his shoulder, and gave it a light squeeze, and he looked up, to where Kharis was giving him a slight nod, his look soft but encouraging. When he continued to hesitate, looking from the baby to his mother to Kharis, his fiance moved his hand down, pressing gently on Eric's lower back to guide him forward, and Eric got the message.

"...ok...but if I drop him it's not my fault.'

Daisuke smiled, and scooted over slowly on the couch to make room for the other carrier.

"You won't drop him," he assured Eric. "I trust you. You just gotta wrap your arms around his back, ok? I'll lay him there, and his head will go right at your elbow there - really, it's ok, he loves being held and our arms could use a break!"

Yeah no nope this was a bad idea, way bad, Eric thought, trying not to nervous laugh out loud as Daisuke placed his tiny precious bundle of drooling, spitting joy into Eric's arms; just because this was his future didn't mean he wanted to face that tonight no thank you-!

"....well he didn't explode," was all he could think to say after a solid 3 seconds had passed and Jun had done nothing more than look up, squint, and go back to happily sucking on his binky.

Daisuke let out a sigh, tired arms flopping down onto the couch beside him.

"Small my ass," he mumbled, "he weighs half a ton by the end of the day I swear."

"Spoiling him already," Kharis teased, as though all decent parents in this world were not apt to spoil their children which, by all means, might never have existed.

Baby Jun was indeed heavier than Eric thought, but the weight was reassuring in a way, made him sink onto his lap and assure Eric that he wouldn't accidently send the thing toppling over if he moved his arm too quickly. Beside him, Daisuke mentioned something about snacks, and from the corner of his eye he saw Kharis take a seat in a comfortable looking armchair catacorner to the sofa. Drawn by the motion, Eric glanced up, away from the baby, and, oh, Kharis thought he could hide it. Almost did, even, rearranging his face back into usually airy, open General Page, but Eric fucking saw that smile and those soft, crinkled eyes as he looked at his fiance and little nephew.

"Oh no, Page, don't you dare give me that look,"

"What look?' He asked with deep innocence, but Eric could see the corners of his lips wanting to pull up into a grin. 

"That. That look," he said, nodding his head towards Kharis since both hands were presently very full of baby. "That smile, that 'look how cute Eric is with a baby' smile!"

"Well I'm glad you're aware of how darling you look holding a baby," Kharis said with just a hint of a laugh coloring his voice. "Forgive me, my bride, I'm just indulging a moment of domestic comfort."

Eric shrugged, trying not to disturb his small burden. "Well...not yet, we talked about that. So get your fill now cause it's gonna be a little bit before I give you one of our own, got it?"

Kharis nodded earnestly but it did nothing to erase the gentle look on his face, and Eric honestly couldn't think of anything to do but stick his tongue out at his future husband, delighting Daisuke to no end.

"I like him, Kharis, get s ring on his finger before he realizes what an uptight loser you are."

)))(((

Jamal seemed content to fulfill his wife's requests for snacks, bringing out strawberries, melon, and bits of sharp cheese. With Kharis driving and Daisuke nursing, it was sparkling cider to drink rather than wine, which was peachy for Eric; Daisuke hadn't offered to take back the baby yet and Jun seemed content in his almost -aunts arms, sometimes waving an arm with no direction or making some weird gurgling noise, but otherwise not giving one shit who held him. Cute, Eric thlight, but deceptive.

They made small talk, mostly asking Eric polite questions, the sort of gentle, noninvasive things one asks of a new person in their midst; how are classes, what's your family like, do you have any hobbies. Awkward, a little overwhelming being the center of attention, but ultimately done from kindness.

Eventually though, when Jamal began talking to Kharis quite excitedly about his garden, he was relieved when the two left for a look, giving Eric a little more breathing room. He might not know Daisuke any better, but he was a Carrier too, and already that had become enough of Eric's identity to find camaraderie in another.

Daisuke seemed to have the same sense of familial comfort...or a desire to be near his baby while still giving his arms a rest, cause he leaned over to tuck his chin onto Eric's shoulder, black bangs tickling Eric's cheek. 

"So you go to Stillwater right? I went there! Taylor still around?"

Eric nodded, "yup. Just had his second baby earlier this month."

"No shit? He'd just gotten off maternity leave when I got there!"

Eric did some quick mental math, figuring Daisuke must have been a carrier about 2 and a half years by now, and suggested as such.

"Mmhmm. Was there almost my whole year too, before I met Jamal."

"He seems nice, " Eric said politely, as it seemed the thing to say and also because it was true. "Did he, ah, you two got matched?"

"Yup. Good thing too, I was 6 weeks away from getting assigned when we met; got married two weeks later."

Eric gave a low whistle; "shit, I thought my friend Dove had cut it close, you best him by like 10 whole days!"

Daisuke chided the younger Carrier, giving his cheek a quick poke. "Well you're not exactly taking the long road, Mrs. Page. you started dating in what, June?"

"But we met in March," Eric pointed out with mirth in his voice, and Daisuke snorted, knowing full well the spider monkey story.

"Yeah, at least you got a good anecdote there. Jamal and I are just old CEC classic. Dinner, brunch, proposal, marriage, baby."

"But you ended up liking him, right?" Eric asked, suddenly feeling apprehensive, like Daisuke was hiding a secret and would break down sobbing in his arms. But the Carrier nodded calmly.

"I do. Jamal is a good provider, he takes care of me, he loves Jun."

Something about that was disquieting to Eric, and it took him a moment to needle out what , as he rocked Jun against his chest.

"Im sure Jamal loves you too, Daisuke, " he assured, as though half an hour in this house could tell him such a thing. And he wanted Daisuke to agree, wholeheartedly, and was a little taken aback when he gave a very hesitant nod. 

"Love is...a varied word, you know," he began reaching around Eric to let Jun take hold of his finger. "Jamal wants me warm and safe and fed, would prefer me to be happy. That's a form of love, you know."

Eric's brain puzzled this out, still wishing for a more clean cut answer in a world that had grown do black and white.

"Well...what about you? Do you love him?"

"Maybe in the same way," he responded simply. "I want him to have a good day at his job when he leaves in the morning. I like spending time with him, but I like time alone too...Eric, don't look so frightened," he implored, tucking a bit of Eric's hair behind his ear. "I'm content. I didn't marry for love, and I was very conscious of that. For me and Jamal, marriage was a business deal."

"How romantic," Eric said, uncomfortable with how his...well, discomfort was showing so easily, and Daisuke scoffed, but shook his head in a good natured way.

"It's not, and that's alright. It was just good practice, for us. He gets companionship, a warm bed, and children, I get children, a stable income, and a comfortable home. We arranged our marriage around that, we slept together a few times to make sure that worked, and we got married. And now we have this little bean, huh Jun Bug?"

Eric's face must have shown the unease he felt, because Daisuke grew somber, and swore under his breath . 

"Hey...come on Eric, don't get so glum over me ok? I'm fine. Jamal is kind. We spent like 8 hours one day talking about what we wanted, in marriage, with sex, with discipline -"

"With you or with the kids?" Eric wanted to know, ignoring the CEC lessons of not getting involved in another man's marriage.

Daisuke's look grew almost devilish, a peachy glow coming over his cheeks. "I told Jamal if he ever struck me in the face I would chop his balls off while he slept," he said simply, and Eric immediately wanted to introduce him to Dove. "But if he saw fit to spank me for being a bad wife, that was fine."

The wheels turned in Eric's head for a moment, till he finally made a sound halfway between humor and disgust

"Oh my god you like that don't you??"

Daisuke gave another low, merry laugh at this little secret. "He thought he was teaching me a lesson for being bratty, but I just wanted fucked."

"Ooohmygod."

Daisuke put his hands up in a shrug, a silver and diamond ring glittering on his finger.

"Hey, if I can give you one piece of advice, let it be this," he said, looking towards the kitchen to make sure the men were still at the French doors, out of earshot. "Push Kharis's limits. If you're sure you wanna marry him, wait till the honeymoon periods over, and see how far he goes."

"Till...what, exactly?" Eric wanted to know. "Tilll he hits me? Spanks me?"

"Honestly, Eric, he doesn't seem the type to strike a Carrier, but you never know, and it's better to just get it out of the way, ok?"

"I don't -"

"I know you don't understand, honey. You're 18. But once you get married, there's gonna be this unease until you're sure exactly what the boundaries are, how much you can piss him off and your engagement talks still hold. You'll feel better, trust me."

Eric, confident, independent Eric, wanted to fight this immediately, but something within kept him from lunging straight into a debate, something more than social propriety or the baby in his arms. It was the fact that he already felt the truth to those words, and he knew Daisuke knew he was wavering.

"Honey...you're a Carrier now," he said gently, putting his arm around Eric's shoulders. "Its so, so fucking scary changing as an adult, let alone at 17, and I know you understand what's going on but you need you really think about it ok? ...youre property now. You and I, we become our fathers property or wards of the state until were married. Look at him; look at Kharis," he said, and Eric did, raising his eyes to his fiance, the man he had promised himself to. "No matter how nice he is, or how kind, or snart, no matter how many stars on his uniform or how much money in the bank or what books you both like? He. Will. Own. You. And a man can do whatever he wants to his property. Him slapping you upside the face is no different to the law than him kicking a stuck door closed; just a little violence to get the object to work right."

"...Daisuke ...I trust Kharis," he says softly. "I don't...I know I don't know him well, but I'm not afraid of him...and I've met men who frightens me."

"I'm not telling you this to make you frightened, honey," he said, a hint of apology hanging in his voice. "And I agree with you; I've known Kharis over a year now, and if he's anything like Jamal, he will make a better husband than most. And it's not like we have a choice to get married or not. But you're becoming a general's wife. Good husband or not, you're gonna go to military balls and ceremonies, and they're gonna see you as another decoration on his uniform, something to give him sex and status and children. Even if he loves you, Eric, or you fall in love with him, don't ever forget how the world sees you...especially you, honey, because you're gonna be in the public eye."

In his arms, Jun stirred, flailing his little balled up fists, and Eric have him a tiny bounce, shushing him, and after a moment he sighed, and leaned back into Daisuke's embrace. 

"Thanks, Daisuke," he whispered, soft but earnest. "I...I get it. Or I'll try to get it...I don't want to think of myself as an object. Being a Carrier doesn't make me an object, but I know it's what others see."

"Serve your country, Carrier," said Daisuke with a bone-dry grit to his voice, mimicking words he, too, had obviously heard. 

"Serve your husband, serve the union," Eric agreed, and they met one another's eyes, just long enough for Eric to decide he wouldn't mind getting to know Daisuke better.

)))(((

 

"Did you ever dream it could be this good again, Kharis?"

The general turned from the door, where he'd been admiring the small trees Jamal and his wife had planted together that spring. "Hm?"

Jamal surveyed the adjoining room, where his wife and Eric held their newborn son, showing Eric how tiny his finger and toenails were, exhausted but beaming at the infant he'd carried for them.

"Just...this. We lived through the end of the fucking world and came out the other side better than anyone could've hpped. You ever think you'd have yourself a bride as lovely as Eric, when you were praying for your life in a China foxhole?"

"You know I don't like talking about those years, Jamal."

His brother winced, laying a hand on his arm apologetically, and Kharis nodded.

"But...no, god no, of course not," he said, shaking his head. "I was 18, I was heading into my 3rd year of combat, I had no fucking concept of the future. Biggest event I could contemplate was a cup of hot coffee if I survived the Battle of Shanghai."

"And you did," Jamal pointed out with pride, "and you came home with a fuckin star on your uniform 2 years later."

"I reached General only because 70% of my battalion was dead," he murmured, joining his brother in surveying the carriers seated around the living room, his heart aching to go hold his bride. "In any other world, 5 years active duty wouldn't be enough to break rank."

"Well this isn't any other world is it? It's ours, and those five years were a fucking apocalypse. You reached General cause you helped save the other 30%, then you hauled your ass home and trained the entire Midwest to make their cities into fortresses. Your arny bases, your weapons caches, your CECs have the lowest break in and escape rates in the fucking northern union."

"I just want to keep people safe," he sighed, giving his glass a swirl and wishing for something stronger, wishing he didn't have to drive Eric back to the CEC, wishing he didn't have to take him back at all. "And that starts with Eric; I don't want him hearing about my years in the war. That was before him, he has enough to fret about."

Jamal nodded, his eyes softening towards them.

"I mean it though Kharis, be proud of what you had to do to get here. Without your rank, you wouldn't have Eric."

"I wouldn't have my rank without the war and the plague, and without those, and the change, Eric would have himself."

"Waxing poetic without whiskey?" He laughed, followed by a low sigh. "Baby brother the change is the best thing that ever happened to us."

"Oh? I don't know if our wives would agree," replied Kharis, raising his eyebrows. "I heard Daisuke over the phone in the delivery room, he didn't seem too grateful."

Jamal grimaced, rubbing his forearm where he still have a scar from his wife's fingernails. "That's...true. I can't imagine...Daisike still has nightmares sometimes, about his first nights at Stillwater...but its just a part of it, Kharis. This is saving them too, it's saving their world. Just wait until Eric tells you he's pregnant, or when he's stealing your clothes because none of his fits. Or when his doctor hands you your son for the first time, you'll see what I mean."

Kharis couldn't argue back, not with this point, not seeing Eric balancing Jun cautiously in his nervous, unpracticed arms. Kharis wanted a family, a wife and children, or else he wouldn't have applied for a bride, and he was growing to adore Eric, and want nothing but the best for him; it just came with the knowledge that what was best might not always be what Eric wanted, and his heart broke for the still wandering boy sitting there in Carrier clothes, filling out a role set by a world he'd never known.

"Jamal...just don't tell Eric. When I asked him to marry me, he begged me to not to make him a child bride; the last thing I want is for him to know I was a child soldier."


	27. A Greater Burden

"Eric! Hey you little fuck, miss you!"

"Jesus Christ Dove you sound like shit."

On the other side of the phone, Dovine gave a wet cough, followed by a noise of disgust and the sound of spitting.

"Eugh, oh god ew, I've been coughing up phlegm all day," he groused, his voice faint and croaky. "But my fever broke last night. "

"I'm glad, Dove, we all had bets on when you'd die."

He gave a hollow laugh, followed by more coughing, before finally pulling his ass together. 

"Can’t get rid of my that fucking easy, McDaugh," he said as a dire warning. "I'm fine, it was just a flu. Kyle looked after me the whole week, kept me doped up on cold medicine and lemon soda."

Eric snorted. "Sounds so romantic."

"...hey you know, honestly, it kinda was. What's better for a relationship than helping your new bride sit up long enough to hack up a lump of snot?"

"Fucking gross," Eric groaned, letting his head fall back over the aide of the couch. It was Friday, a full week since Dovine’s wedding, and this was the first anyone had heard from him, and the dorm had taken turns passing the phone around. As room mate, Eric felt he shoulda got first dibs, but he was stuck in marriage counseling all day, laden down with a stack of books to match Dovine’s.

"So he have to report back for duty Monday?"

"Yeah," Dove sighed, as wistfully as he could with his nose still clogged. "We postponed our honeymoon till Christmastime; that's soon enough that even if I get knocked up right away, I won't be too big to travel."

Eric's mind immediately went back to Daisuke and his small baby boy, how he had been so ready for a break when Eric showed up, yet so eager to take him back into his arms when it was time for his brother in law to leave. Getting into the car, he could see right into their living room window, where Jamal was very invested in making faces at the baby, puffing his cheeks up, sticking out his tongue. Eric wondered if 3 month olds were able to laugh yet; Jamal was sure trying. 

"Well, at least you’d be warm for the winter," Eric pointed out, recalling how Taylor had bitched and moaned about the heat the entire last trimester of his pregnancy. 

"Chyeah, well, we'll see," Dove said, puncturing his devil-may-care attitude with a sneeze. "Fuuuck me…"

"Grow up, Mrs. Miller, you're fine," Eric chided, looking up to see Perry waiting for his turn, drooping his shoulders like a toddler about to have a tantrum. "Hey, Dove, I only got a minute left, Perry's bleeding and pissy as fuck, but guess what? We set a date….yeah, next month, September 19th. So stop having the plague before then, ok?"

"Wouldn't fucking miss it for the world, Er."

)))(((

"Marriage counseling sucks, Kharis, I don't wanna go anymore," Eric sighed morosely into the receiver, plopped belly down on his bed. "It's just more of the same crap we got in class!"

"What kind of crap, sweetie?- no, Mulligan, send those to Defense, not Security...yes there's a difference!- sorry, darling."

"Nono, I shouldn't have called while you were at work," Eric covered quickly. "Just didn't expect you to still be there at 7:30."

Kharis let out a near growl, and Eric could tell his fiance was tired. "New cadets, and not a damn one knows what they're doing - yes I mean you, Mulligan. Actually darling I'm suppose to be heading on my way out, I'm just packing up, don't worry. Now what are they teaching you in this counseling?"

Eric held Bartholomew tight, looking over one of the booklets the traveling shrink had given him.

"I dunno, something about God being a big umbrella over you, cause you're the husband, and I'm supposed to be under both or your umbrellas? I dunno, I don't get it."

"Well we’re going to be a household of Godless heathens, Eric, so you can probably tuck that one away," he said briskly. "Tell me what else."

"Just...you know, the usual shit," Eric responded, nervously biting at one fingernail. "About how everyone has to do their part to support the union, and my job as a carrier is to, you know, support your career and have a lot of kids for our military and jobs and shit…"

"Mulligan I swear to god you keep trying to listen in on my conversations with my Carrier and I will have your ass transferred to Fort Dodge, do you want that?! - sorry, dear, I'm listening. Eric, I know they fill your heads with all sorts of nonsense there's but you only have to get through a few sessions, alright? You and I can talk about everything after we have our appointment together tomorrow, alright?...Eric honey if you're nodding to the phone again I can't see it."

Eric winced at himself and his bad habit. "Sorry, yeah. Ok, they want you here by six, it'll be a fucking blast."

"Oh I'm sure," replied Kharis, with the weariness of a man who was already sick of the CECs bullshit. "Alright darling, I need to get going before Mulligan finds a new and creative way to ruin my life. I'll see you tomorrow for counseling, alright? You keep your chin up, I love you."

Still chewing on his nail, Eric smiled against the receiver, feeling a familiar warmth in his chest.

"Love you too, babe."

)))(((

Over and over again since his change, it had been made clear to Eric that aside from whore and breeder, his role in life was to be a pretty bauble for his husband, something other men would envy just seeing them walk in together. He was told to be mindful of his face, his hair, his appearance and waistline, to make sure his body and disposition was something that could bring pride and honor to his husband.

Well, that bullshit aside, he wondered if they realized it absolutely worked the other way too; Carriers were still human, after all, and absolutely sized each other up based on what man they escorted to dinner. Maybe their judgements were less nefarious than those of men, but they were still natural; Eric couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit pleased with himself when older, ex soldier Carriers caught sight of their former CO traipsing the halls to meet his bride. It was just as good when the CEC guards all sprang to attention when General Page entered a room, yet Eric got to skip right up to him, be spun around in his arms. In a life that offered a Carrier very little freedom, this was power, to not have to obey the formalities of military life.

Of course, nowhere was this more satisfying or a greater joy to the Stillwater Carriers than when Captain Jameson was still on duty. Like, well, today for instance. 

Jameson loved meal times. Eric didn't know why, maybe because half the Carriers were taller than him and being all sat at a mealtime table helped keep the illusion that they were all petite little boys, but whatever the reason he almost never missed dinner. Commenting when someone wasn't eating enough, eating too much, taking their meds, comments on a new dress or hair growing out into unexpected curls. Shooting fish in a fucking barrel.

"Doing alright Tomas? You’re how far along now, 7 months?" He asked of the very moody, very pissy and very hormonal Carrier, who looked ready to stab someone with his butter knife. As always Jameson invited himself to rub a hand over his rounded belly, either indulging in his fetish or just wanting to get Tomas riled up so he could have an excuse to discipline him.

"Ah, there you are, Captain," came a familiar voice at the door, Kharis’s easy Midwest drawl dialed up just enough to sound oh so casual. "How did I know I would find you here milling about? Hello, gentlemen," he said to the Carrier table, taking off his cap as he neared the table. Most of the Carriers snickered, hiding their faces behind forks or milk glasses, but a couple newbies just looked terrified at the presence of another uniformed man.

"Ah...General Page, good to see you Sir," Jameson rushed to collect himself, awkwardly snapping the heels of his boots together, raising his hand in salute. Bastard was used to having free reign of the CEC, being the commanding officer of the property most of the time, but Captain was well down the ladder from a 2 star general. 

Eric fucking beamed, but stayed where he was sat, spearing a bite of roasted broccoli as he took in the show.

"Jameson, are you aware that two of your lobby guards are currently being quite entertained at the door?" He asked, and Eric noted that Kharis had not given permission for Jameson to go at ease. "I heard them telling the most unflattering tales, about someone trying to sneak a cell phone into the infirmary. Of course that's a security breach, and should pictures of defenseless Carriers start making rounds, I would have to do a hardware confiscation to find the miscreant abusing the bodies of our little mothers. You wouldn't happen to know of any guards or low officers lurking about, Captain?"

Across the table, Zion’s eyes were cold, steely, and intense, locked on this conversation, and Eric swore he could see his throat pulse. Beneath, Eric reached out one bare foot, rubbing it against Zion’s leg bracingly 

"N-No, Sir, of course not," Jameson replied the lies slipping easily from his tongue with each oiled word. "But I will conduct a search myself, General Page."

"Good. Please go have a discussion with your front guardsmen, then, they should be armed at attention at all times, not standing about spreading stories."

"Yes, Sir!" He answered solidly, saluting once more before trotting off to obey orders. Once his boot steps were out of earshot, Kharis nodded to himself, approached the table, startling two Carriers, but simply reached around Eric to help himself to a butter biscuit from the tray.

"Finished your supper, darling? He asked casually of Eric, who shoved the last bits of chicken into his mouth, downed a mouthful of milk, and nodded.

"Excellent," he said as he offered a hand to his fiance, then tapped the table where he'd sat. "You fine gentlemen finish your own plates, hm? Have a restful evening." And he slipped his cap back on over his slicked hair, letting Eric take his arm.

"Show off," Eric smirked when they'd turned the corner, and Kharis only shrugged, swallowing his bite of bread.

"You loved it, McDaugh."

)))(((

Counseling as a pair was even worse than counseling solo, and Eric was fucking amazed at how seamlessly Major General Page was able to slip into the role of superior, dominant alpha male. For over an hour they were talked to by a man almost twice Kharis’s age, an obviously memorized spiel about the importance of being fruitful and open to life, how it was better to get Eric bred quickly, how pregnant Carriers were so much more sweet and docile and easy to train...Eric had to wonder if this man had even BEEN around a pregnant Carrier; their unstable hormones were earning them a colorful reputation with older OBGYNs as being far more difficult to deal with than women had been. Eric just thought that was their old mysogony trying to make up for lost time.

Eric, for his part, had been taken aside quietly by his fiance and told, under no uncertain terms, that he expected him to sit quietly, ankles crossed, shoulders straight, speak only when spoken to, smile sweetly.

"These sessions aren't just for doling out 1950s etiquette, Eric," Kharis told him, adjusting first Eric's skirt, and then his own cap, making sure the metal insignia was perfectly centered. "They monitor us the whole time, looking for what men they want to favor, pay more, give power too. It's a job interview in disguise, Eric, and your role here is subterfuge."

Well then. Challenge fucking accepted, even if he did want to barf the entire hour.

And, he kept track. He was spoken to exactly three times by the counselor; don't you look pretty, have you any baby names picked out, and be good little Carrier.

God. Damn.

At the very least he was handsomely rewarded for his good behavior afterwards; making out with General Page in uniform warmed something in Eric he wasn't ready to address, and with a wedding date set, not a damn person said a thing about Eric having a man alone with him in the side dining room.

"What a performance, Eric, we all made it out of that room alive!" Kharis praised his bride with a smug grin, pulling away from his lips just enough to speak. 

"I'm pretty sure I bit my own tongue hard enough to bleed in there, Kharis, that shit drives me crazy!"

"Oh? You poor dear. Let me see," he teased, tipping his chin upwards for another taste, running his tongue lavishly over Erics. "Hm, no, you seem to be all in one piece, Mr. McDaugh."

Eric longed to press this further, the dampness beneath his skirt begging him, but they had only 15 minutes left before Kharis had to leave, and besides, Eric could fantasize all he wanted; didn't make him any less shy. So they slowed,deep Frenching turning to soft lips against cheeks, though Kharis was reluctant to let his bride off his lap.

"I am proud of you, Eric," he said again, softly. "I know it can't be easy to swallow your pride like that, but you understand why I asked you to do it, right?"

"Sure," Eric shrugged, playing with a baby hair curl near Kharis’s temple. "Because that guy could tell on us if he thought we had too many liberal minded ideas, right?"

"Mmhm...and you remember I told you, Eric, that keeping my position is important for the both of us, right?"

"Yeah...yeah, I get it, ‘Ris. If people don't think I'm a good wife, they'll, like, look down on you, right?"

"Something like that, baby…"

Eric frowned, not liking this guarded hesitation Kharis spoke with sa all, and he gave a sharp tug on the curl he had in his fingers.

"Where is this going?" He asked, using those acting skills his intended had just praised to hide his anxiety behind a coy, confident exterior. Bratty was better than scared and insecure.

Wincing at Eric's abuse, Kharis reached up and removed his hand, holding it like he had the afternoon they for engaged. 

"...General Marco, the Brigadier under my command for Fort Wardon, is holding a dinner for us, for you and me, to celebrate our engagement," he began slowly, and Eric nodded, waiting for more information to whirl around in his mental blender.

"...and this is going to be quite the event, darling. My entire battalion will be there...that's the whole fort, over 400 soldiers."

"Okay…"

"And 20-something officers, Eric, including General O'Rourke, from Fort West, in Lincoln, my superior."

When Eric still just nodded his pretty little head, Kharis sighed, running his fingers through Eric's golden strands.

"I’m marrying a blonde," he sighed incredulously, as though just processing this information. "Eric, what I'm saying is, you do understand, don't you, that for about 320 days out of the year, Fort Wardon is /my/ fort, don't you?"

"Uh...well, you're a Major General, so...so yeah that uh...that...oh…"

"...it had /not/ occurred to you."

Immediately defensive, Eric drew himself up as tall and proud as he could, which...wasn’t much considering he was straddling his fiance's groin still.

"No, I did, I went to a union school same as everyone ...its just...I didn't put 2 and 2 together, I guess...doesn't anyone on base outrank you?"

"Lieutenant Major Perez oversees 7 units across Nebraska and Kansas," Kharis explained slowly, "and I report to him directly; he, O'Rourke and the men in their inner circles run our overhead, but in terms of who is here more than a couple weeks a year, physically here, making shit run without playing phone tag? Those are my men, Eric, who I'm responsible for training to keep the fuck alive if tensions ever bubbled over again. That's 425 men beneath me waiting to meet you-"

"And a couple special guests who outrank you," Eric finished, mental blender dumping out a very interesting froth. "I...I see…"

Hurriedly, Kharis went to fill the tension between them with words.

"It's not a high formal event, Eric, I wouldn't throw you into that straight away," he promised his young bride, and beneath his hands Eric could feel his heart beat faster. "But yes, it's like I said when I asked you to marry me...there is a public face that I must keep, if I'm to protect my family and allow them the freedoms and luxuries I have, and that public face falls to my wife as well. I'll take you to buy a nice dress, and you'll need a formal gown, for New Years...you do remember, right, about-"

"How I have to learn to be a demure, feminine, darling little Carrier," he finished for Kharis, running his hands over the silver stars he wore on his chest and shoulders. "No, Kharis, I know, I get that...I guess, never having been interested in a military career, I didn't pay much attention...but marrying you makes me a general's wife, huh…"

It's not like he didn't know. It's not like he didn't listen to Daisuke last week; “because you're a general's wife, because you'll be in the public eye-" He just...hadn't cared. Eric had never played with you guns; his father hated the idea. He and Daniel never played soldier, he never dreamed of glory in a uniform. He would do his mandatory service if he didn't get into a college, then leave when he could. Focusing on the details never interested him, so while he knew Kharis had a...impressive rank and status, he honestly just didn't...didn't care about that.

But he'd forgotten everyone else did.

Something akin to fear struck Khariss face, and he helps Eric's hand tighter in two of his.

"Eric, I know it's a lot, I do, and if you need time to reconsider you know I will not hold you binding to an engagement contract-"

"You wish Page knock it off or they've gonna start worrying if you're going through the change, " Eric said, taking his free hand to tap Khariss face gently. "I'm not considering anything, ok? I'm just...in terms of politics you're kind of a big deal huh?"

"Only locally."

"How locally?"

"...North Dakota to Oklahoma locally ?"

"Kharis that's like five states that not local!" Eric argue, giving another tug together curl. "Calm your ass down, Ris, were still getting married, I'll...I can behave, promise. I mean, I just got out of counseling, my poor little fluffy Carrier brain is filled with ideas of submission to your career, right?”

Kharis wore a sour expression on his face, one that faded to another hesitant anxiety.

“Eric, it’s not just my career, not directly...You know that Stillwater is on military property, right?”

Eric nodded slowly. “Sure, it’s on base, right?”

“That’s right, it’s a part of Fort Wardon, since you Carrier’s are regarded as a resource, you’re under military protection-”

“...aaand at Fort Warden, you ARE the military,” Eric finished for him, and he smoothed his hands nervously over Kharis’s stiff, starched collar, feeling more than a little stupid that he was haing suh trouble linking all these pieces together himself. “So you, like, you kinda run the CEC too?”

“Indirectly, yes. Captain Jameson does run it for the most part. He does the staffing, he enforces the rules for both you Carriers and the guards, he hires the teachers and overlooks the curriculum, but in a broad sense, it’s power he has funneled through my position.”

Eric squirmed on his lap, not from any sort of physical excitement now, but from agitation.

“So you could just fire him right?”

“Well, Eric, is there something you need to tell me about Jameson that I could put towards that goal?” When Eric went pale and clammed his mouth closed, Kharis stroked his cheek, and drew him close, to kiss his forehead. Eric knew, he knew that something was going on, and still waited for his Carrier to be ready to speak. “Technically I can, but it’s not something I can do safely, not without a court marshall and a mess, for lack of evidence. My power is not absolute, though it is far reaching. And that, my darling little Carrier bride, is where you come in.”

Eric pulled away, to hold Kharis at arms length. “What the fuck can I do? My job is to breed and birth, remember?”

“Oh no, Mrs. Page, there’s so much more to it than that,” And Kharis pulled a hand around Eric’s neck, bringing him forward, and laid his lips just below Eric’s ear, his breath sending a shiver through him.

“Eric, if we play our cards right, and can pass ourselves up as a new ideal of a man and bride, role models for your community, that’s where your real power comes from. More funding for the CEC, better classes for them, more thorough staffing and oversight, maybe bring in directors from Denver.”

Denver. Eric heard, in passing, how things were running there. Happier Carriers, Denver’s CEC policy went, don’t run. They don’t fight, they have healthier pregnancies and stronger babies. Denver’s policy was another 6 months of classes, and they discouraged physical violence against their Carriers, if for no other reason that bruised or bloodied mothers miscarried. It was...something, at least, it was a tiny step in a better direction, better than what they had at Stillwater.

"I...I can do that, Kharis,” he breathed back, linking his arms tight around his neck to stop them from shaking, smelling his cologne. “If you need me to pretend to be a half decent Carrier a few times a year at some fancy party, to make you look good and make some rich assholes give us money, If I’m suppose to show how not beating your wife can still give you a sweet little pet, I can deal, but they better have good fucking food. So when is this dinner, huh? Like a bachelor party the night before or-

"It’s Sunday night."

Outside in the hall, 3 new carriers were making their way back from dinner, having no context for why, out of an afore assumed empty room, they heard a shrill voice scream out, "that's in two fucking days you asshole!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup y'all your nonbinary boy here hone sick from work, achey as fuck, watching anime, and feeling like I'm dying but hey, writing is a great distraction. Love y'all


	28. Runaway

Clothes shopping for Eric was usually, in actuality, clothes shopping for Daniel that he would inherit the next year as his brother outgrew his jeans and sweaters. When Eric did get his own clothes, they were either from thrift stores, or they were shoes. Shoes were always new, and always the most expensive item they owned. Mitchel believed a good solid pair of tennis shoes or work boots would pay for themselves ten times over when his sons were 35, 50, 65 and still had good feet and strong backs. Additionally, he had One Good Suit, bought for graduations and weddings and funerals, but Eric doubted he'd be wearing it anymore. None of his pants fit him now, and the cut of the jacket was very Not Carrier...still kept it though.

This had never bothered Eric, wearing hand me downs or whatever they could find at Savers; it did make for a jarring transition though, when Kharis picked him up Saturday afternoon to buy him a dinner dress. He had not...required...Eric to wear a dress, keeping open the fact that a Carrier's suit was considered fine for the occasion, but the request was there; a dress was preferred, it sent a totally different message, which Eric agreed to. But lord almighty going shopping for a Carrier's dress was...um…

First and foremost, Eric had seen very few pieces of Carrier clothes available off the rack; even going to the mall with his friends to kill time or see a movie, most stores simply didn't carry clothing for such a still small demographic, especially not in their working class outlet shops. Carriers married quick and they married /rich/, so it would be high end shops that carried skirts and blouses and such. A few family shops would have a rack or two of basics, usually in juniors, for father's trying to dress their changed and not yet married sons, but as the Endgame children reached adulthood, these were short lived.

So it should have been obvious that they would be going downtown, closer to the city, into one of those uppity stores with the fairy lights in the windows and the paid parking on the street, but Eric was still more than a little uncomfortable being inside. Everything was bright, clean, the floor made from real hardwood, not laminate, track lighting and new music. Spattered around were a few other carriers, an immediate comfort to Eric, making him feel less conspicuous. 

Unsure what to do, Eric wandered at his fiance's side, looking for a clerk, and he browsed lightly through the closest rack, kinda liking the thin, masculine stripes on a blouse until he read the tag and realized he was shopping in maternity 

That was aaaaanope from him, thanks. 

Kharis had little trouble getting attention, since he was, as ever in public, wearing his uniform, and those stars really stood out. He explained indulgantly to the pretty Carrier, who's husband apparently owned the shop, that he needed something to compliment Army semi-formal, feminine but easy to wear, just dinner, no dancing, and it spoke to the prevalence of militia law in their lives that the Carrier knew just what kind of dress should be worn for "army semi-formal", and was quick to take Eric over to a curtained dressing room.

"Evening, sweetie, I'm Finn," he said brightly, customer service voice still highly engaged.

"Uh...Eric."

"Good to meet you- let's see, you look about a size 6, lemme see your waist...so that your husband out there?"

Eric stood tall and still as the Carrier wrapped a tape measure snug around his waist, then down over his hips. "Ah, almost. About 3 weeks."

"He's cute, not doing too bad for yourself, all shit considered, huh?"

"Yeah he's...better than I'd have thought, you know?"

The shop Carrier met his eyes for a moment before he left, his own gold wedding band glinting in the lights, and yeah, he knew. They always knew what those sorts of words meant, and he gave Eric a small smile.

Then Eric stood alone and awkward in a dressing room, warm sandy orange walls and a gold curtain providing some stitch of privacy. On one wall hung a few items, go-backs that hadn't yet gone back, and for lack of other amusement he leafed through them, liking a black jacket with silver cording; it looked a lot more like what he used to wear than the florals and pastels that got loaned around the CEC. An ugly beige sweater, plain jeans, more maternity blouses-

He eyed the curtain, and slipped one hanger down from the peg, letting the soft knit trail over his fingers, dark green, flowy, extra fabric gathered around the belly. With a brief moment of self awareness and bravery, Eric held the blouse up in front of him in the mirror, letting the gathered fabric fall over his still thin frame, and tried to imagine himself a year from now, two years. It was inevitable, he told himself between slow breaths. And it was ok to think about, it would make it easier when the time came-

"Needing some mommy clothes already, sweetie?"

Eric let out what he was sure was a very manly little yelp, and clinched the garment to his chest as though he'd hit been caught naked. 

"N-no!" He defended immediately, fumbling to hang the clothes back up on the peg. "I'm definitely not pregnant yet."

Gold star for him, he managed to say "yet".

The shop Carrier just shook his head, smiling, hanging up a few gowns for Eric to choose from, and he felt so very, very out of his element. He didn't particularly like dresses, and all he'd worn so far were casual things, light cotton or a denim skirt. But these were fancy, they were satin and pleated and laced, that one had no straps, this one had like 9…

"...Finn?"

"Yeah, Eric?"

"...please help me pick something out I have no idea what I'm doing."

And Finn just gave a knowing nod, as though he'd been hearing that every day for a while now.

)))(((

"Hey, Daniel."

"Sup, Eric, you hanging in there?"

Eric sat cross legged in the window seat of the commons room, glancing out towards the yard. Autumn was slow coming on the plains, with summer always stubbornly clinging on near nearly Halloween, so everything was still green and lush outside, hot and inviting.

"Yeah, I'm doing alright, how's everything at home?"

It was good to lose himself in Daniel's voice; he'd always been so close to his older brother, barely a year separating them, and though they flight as often as any, he missed him. Daniel told him about classes, two of which he shared with Owen's brother River, about how he and his boyfriend had spent a weekend by the river, fishing, and promised to thaw some for the grill on Eric's next home visit.

"You bringing what's his face?"

Eric rolled his eyes; he knew Daniel knew his name, he was just trying to be protective, as much as he could be in this situation.

"Kharis and probably,, yeah. Might be nice to get everyone in the same room together at least once before the wedding."

No reply, only silence through the phone.

"...you still there, Daniel?"

"Uh...yeah, yeah I'm right here, Eric...listen, it's just...hard to believe you're, you know, getting married."

Eric shrugged, then heard Kharis's voice in his head reminding him he couldn't see gestures over the phone.

"I mean...you and Dominic wanna get married someday, right?" He pointed out. "Same thing."

"Ni, it's not the same thing, Er, you know that!"

Eric winced, never a fan of his brothers more abrasive temper, but he was getting better at catching it as he got older.

"I'm sorry, naw, I'm just...you know I've only gotten to see you like, what, 5 or 6 times since you left?"

'SInce you left.' Eric longed to argue those words, say that he was taken, that he had to be here, but what Daniel said was right, wasn't it? He'd packed up a bag, walked down the road, and left, 7 months ago, and every day he wondered what would be different if he hadn't. Dad and Daniel would have kept his secret, nursed him through his change. Dad had an emergency bottle of strong pain killers from an accident last year, they'd give him those, and liquor. He's get through it, find ways to deal with his periods, he'd go to school, get work, be like Tomas and tell no one!

...but he hadn't done that, and he was getting married in 3 weeks. Less than.

"I know, Danny...fuck, I miss you. Miss getting to just hang out with you."

"Same, brat," his brother breathed, and Eric swore he could almost hear a tremor in his voice. "Eric...he's good to you isn't he? Because I don't give a shit, if he hurts you, if he does something to you that you don't want, I got no problem going to jail-"

"Daniel, he's an officer. Fuck jail, you'd go to suoermax," Eric chided with his own quiver. "But he's good, Danny, Kharis is...Kharis is gonna be a good husband, and a good dad-"

"Lets just start with husband, ok? Let's get use to that before you give me nephews to fuck up."

Eric glared down at the phone in his hand a moment before dragging it back to his ear 

"Whaddys mean fuck up?"

And his brother just laughed, sounding only slightly forced.

"Oh come on, Er, who do you think is gonna teach them all the good swear words?"

'Daniel I'm not even pregnant yet can you not-"

"Oh speaking of babies has dad showed Kharis any of your baby pictures yer?"

"..Daniel don't you /dare-/"

"Wonder if I can find that one of you dancing with your undies around your ankles because you peed like a big boy. "

"You're a fucking dead man, Daniel."

)))(((

Eric spent the rest of his Sunday with his fiance at his house, ostensibly getting ready for dinner but in reality Eric was just very busy getting fucked. There was no pain this time, no soreness even, just an intensely pleasant fullness with Kharis buried deep inside him, laying kisses all along his neck.

"Not so hard," he groaned when he bit at his throat. "My...my dress is strapless, if you bruise me it'll show!"

That image only spurred his lover on, groaning and giving a particularly deep thrust, making Eric's back arch, and he wrapped his legs tight around Kharis, wanting more of that warmth and tenderness, safe in his arms. 

Afterwards the pair struggled to leave their bed, connected by kisses and soft touches and We Shoulds and The Times-! Neither wanted to get up, but both were sweaty and sticky and needed a shower. Kharis offered to shower together, which Eric agreed to, and let his husband wash his hair, fingernails scratching pleasantly over his scalp, dipping him back to rinse the suds from the stream.

Miraculously they both made it out of the shower seperatrly, drying off, drying hair, parting to dress; Eric took a deep pleasure watching Kharis don his uniform as he blowdried his hair, meticulously checking for wrinkles in his slacks or unbecoming lumps as he tucked his shirt in.

Getting himself dressed, thoigh, was decidedly less erotic, at least from his point of view, but he felt Kharis's eyes on him the whole time as he tried to figure his way into his dress. Finn from the shop picked it out for him, a lilac colored thing perfect for the early September heat. Made for a taller carrier, the skirt was loose and flowy, and should have hit just under the knee, but on Eric it became tea length. And, he hadn't been telling Kharis stories just to get him to not leave hickeys; it was strapless, the bodice close-fitting and covered in a looser gathering of lilac chiffon, supposedly to make his chest appear less flat. Which Eric honestly found tacky as fuck- were these old fucks into men or not?!- but it was at least pretty. 

"So is it...is it ok? Is it too much? I feel half naked…" he asked turning around from the closet mirror, his skirt fluttering around his calves. "Did I mess up?"

Well. Considering it took a great deal of whining and convincing and bribery for Eric to not get fucked on the floor wearing said dress, he had to assume his fiance, at least, approved. 

)))(((

Eric didn't need to be told to hold on to his fiance; he was more than happy to do so. He could hear the hall behind that door, well over 400 men milling about, talking, helping themselves to wine and cheese and other bites to eat. God damn his CEC education, all he was thinking was that this was over 400 chances for him to be assaulted.

"Baby, you're shaking," Kharis observed softly, squeezing Eric's hand tighter in his own. "Cold or nervous?"

"...nervous," he confessed. "I just...last time I was on front of a bunch of people it was my 7th grade graduation and everyone came because back then we were the last generation and everyone wanted to see us grow up and I puked in front of 1200 people and I really don't wanna puke in front of all your men-!"

"Breathe, baby, you're going to be fine." His fiance turned to him, and pulled him into a tight hug, which Eric returned desperately. "It's going to be fine. We can't stay in this back hallway forever, honey."

"Sure we can, I've already made friends with the dead cricket in the light."

"Yeah, Gary's pretty great, good listener, but he likes his privacy, and everyone's expecting us baby-"

"Not helping!"

Kharis sighed, slow and deep, and Eric felt it through his chest.

"Come on, Eric. Let's just get it over with, ok? The longer you psych yourself up the worse it'll be."

And General Page had made up his mind; he gave Eric his arm and no time to protest as he pressed his hand onto the bar of the door, drenching them both in noise and light and people."

"General Page, Sir!"

Someone with a voice like a subwoofer yelled out loud enough to smother the room, and everyone grew quiet for a moment, one's sitting at tables snapping to their feet, and there was a deafening sound of 400 boots stamping together and another thundering chorus of, "Sir!"

Jesus Christ maybe growing a vagina was a decent progress if it got him out of this shit. He clung to Khariss arm, feeling the thick weave of his uniforms trying to let the texture and warmth ground him, keep him from fussing with his dress.

"At ease," Kharis ordered simply, and Eric could feel the depth to his voice, resonating through his own body; well, if nothing else it was going to be interesting seeing his husband at post. "Gentlemen, General Marco, thank you for graciously putting this together for us, we both are deeply moved."

At this, Kharis unfurled his arm, and wrapped it behind Eric, resting his hand on the back of his waistband. 

"I am honored not only by the presence of you fine men, but by our true guest of honor tonight. This is my bride to be, Eric Aster McDaugh, son of Mitchel Elliot McDaugh, a machinist who has done a commendable job raising two sons on his own. I'm sure you will all welcome my young Carrier with only the highest esteem and respect."

Oh there was warning in those words, and Eric knew even the most leadheaded cadet could hear it. Touch my wife, they said, and he'd bury them personally.

Eric felt his face turn a horrible shade of scarlet as the room broke into applause, and he tried to put on what he hoped was a charming smile, but he could feel it wavering..fine, then, humility and shyness were admirable Carrier traits, he decided, and settled for closing his eyes against his blush and turning towards Kharis, as though wanting to bury his face into his sleeve. Fucking precious, he's sure they'd think...he hoped.

"General Page, Sir, it's an honor to have you tonight." Eric turned, as the room began to take up it's former lively chatter, towards this new voice. The man who had announced them approached, a friendly smile on a broad face, a spattering of small scars peppering his upper cheek and nose. "Eric, Mr. McDaugh, an honor to make your acquaintance."

"Uuuh, you as well, Mr….I mean, ah-" Eric leaned forward as casually as he could to read the man's nametag. "Oh, General Marco!, um...yeah, thank...thanks for, ah, this!"

Marco just smiled wider, and Eric immediately felt like he was the sort of man who lived by the words "go big or go home", a big personality for a bigger man.

"Happy to do it!" He proclaimed, reaching out to shake Eric's hand, and Eric nearly expected to be wrenched up and down, or have his arm ripped off. "Page has been talking about you quite a bit! Well, to some of us. A few of us."

"A trusted few," Kharis clarified, casting an alert eye around the room. "Marco is good people, Eric. I'd leave you alone with him, if that says enough."

It did, it said more than most people could realize; for his part, Marco looked like he might think about crying...Eric liked this guy, yeah. 

"I think highly of your husband, Mr. McDaugh, we all do, and we're very glad to see him finding someone nice, he needs someone to reel that airy head of his. And, if I can be forward, you're a lot cuter than the last jerk he dated."

Eric remembered Kharis mentioning that, a Carrier he'd been almost engaged to, who decided that old red state prejudice was worth passing up a decent marriage. He nodded politely, Kharis and Marco traded a few work pleasantries, and finally he lead Eric over to the head table to sit down for supper and oh, dear god, he couldn't even name half this food but he was willing to try it all. He laid his plate heavy with biscuits, roast duck, gravy, roasted corn straight from the fields, some oyster looking thing, and accepted the champagne offered to him, because fuck it, it was his party right?"

"Fucking Christ I can't wait to have liquor again."

A tired, cranky voice reached Eric's ears, accompanied by the creek of something heavy hitting the chair next to him.

"Owen! Hey! You're looking...ah…"

"Amazingly pregnant I know," Owen groaned, doing his best to scoot his chair in. "I'm due in 5 weeks and I'm so goddamn done growing this kid, ooh my god."

Eric couldn't help but laugh a little, trying to keep polite as Teagan Demuir joined them, saluting Kharis, giving a polite smile to Eric, and slipping a rolled up towel behind Owen's back.

"Uuugh, thanks honey, it helps," he sighed, leaning back against his makeshift cushion. He gave a quick peck to his husbands cheek,, squeezed his hand between their chairs, and directed him on what he wanted on his plate, since it was obvious that his ass was not leaving that chair now.

"- and some of those potatoes, honey? Oh, and can I have a few of those shrimp? The doctor said no tuna or salmon, but a little bit of shrimp would be ok!"

Teagan acquiesced to all but the shrimp, telling his wife it just made him too nervous, and he promised him a seafood dinner after the baby was born. Owen just nodded obediently, drowning his sorrows in sweet lemon tea.

"So congrats on getting a date set, kid, took my advice!"

Eric bodded, stabbing a blackened potato. "I did. And in other matters too."

Owen's bright blue eyes widened, and he leaned over as close to Eric as he could manage without losing his precarious center of gravity.

"Ok, McDaugh, I need details."

"We're in public, Owen! Stop being such a slut!"

"Oh you get laid and I'm the slut?"

"Omigod Owen how can I be a slut for making love to my own husband, you're the one who got knocked up after knowing a guy 2 months!"

Owens bawdy smile only widened. "Oh, you actually liiiiike him!" He teased in a low sing-song. "'Making love,' Eric, that's so cute!"

Feeling his ears go pink, Eric tried to busy himself with his plate. "Right, and you and Teagan are celibate."

Owen rolled his eyes, laying a hand overtop his belly. "Let's just say we're not as busy as we use to be, with this little guy wanting to be the center of attention," he sighed, looking longingly over at his husband. "...but I suppose, yeah, I might call it that now. If I was a poetic sap like you."

"...he seems nice," Eric ventured, and tried to look Owen up and down for any telltale signs. Any bruises, or the orangeish smear of makeup to hide them, any bandages or gauze-

"He is, Teagans good to me," Owen said, reading Eric's face as he reached impotantly for a jar of pickle relish; without even stopping the conversation he was having, Teagan slid the jar closer to his bride, who eagerly spooned the salty vinegar topping into his bread 

"Gross."

"Man it's all I wanna eat now, is like, really sharp, sour shit. I fucking ate a lemon like a sliced orange yesterday and Teagan looked ready to have me commited. I blame him, he says his first wife was the same way so it's obviously his mutant DNA fucking with me."

"So your baby gonna be born with 3 arms or something?" Eric laughed, and Owen just let his elbow catch Eric's side.

"As long as he's healthy I don't care how many limbs he has."

Eric nodded, politely declined Owens pickle relish, and set into his own duck and carrots, feeling one tiny pebble from his worry pile lighten. He should have more faith, shoulda knew Owen would be ok. Owen makes himself ok. He just hoped Teagan would still be as patient with a bride half his age once he'd birthed their baby. 

Dinner was excellent, dessert even more so, but the mingling afterwards was decidedly not excellent. It was, however, rather mandatory considering this was a party being thrown in their honor, so Eric just stepped along in time with Kharis, perfecting his sweet Carrier smile, which seemed to crack up Marco any time he saw Eric. It seemed to work fine on most of the men though, who kissed his hands, kissed his cheeks, praised Kharis for a beautiful Carrier. They wished the couple happiness, peace, and children, and through it all, Eric just had to smile, play with the ruffles of his skirt, and hold on to Kharis adoringly, which seemed far too easy. These were officers, these were men who had been married, raised families, lost everything, surely not all of them could fall for such a new and unpracticed act?

Or maybe they saw right through it all, but they appreciated the make believe.

"There you are, Page, you're a difficult one to track down aren't you?"

"...General O'Rourke, Sir," Kharis greeted, standing at attention for the man who had finally, it seemed, caught up to him. "It's an honor for you to make time to stop by."

Oooh, this was the guy Kharis mentioned, the Lieutenant General, one of the only men who would show up to Fort Wardon outranking his fiance. Immediately he was torn between abject fear, and his self determination to Play The Part.

"It's a pleasure to be here, Page, truly. I've been working for 21 days straight, a night out does me good," he sighed, peering into his champagne flute as though wishing it would magically refill. "Ah, and you're Miss McDaugh then?"

Trying not to wince at the honorific, Eric nodded, holding his hand out as daintily as he could manage. As expected, O'Rourke took it, kissed the back lightly, and smiled pleasantly.

"A delight. I've heard about you, of course, through the grapevine. We're always immensely proud of our boys who bring themselves in for registration, you know. Dire straits that we're in, it's bracing to find a young Carrier ready to serve their duty to the Union."

Eric felt his throat tighten, and the back of his eyes burn as they always did when ha was reminded of that long walk to Stillwater, against the February winds. But he could beat that, he could push that down, he was stronger than that.

"We...I was only a few months away from enlistment, sir, so I was already prepared to serve," he said cooly, trying to regurgitate some of the posters hung up on the wall in his CEC classroom. "Now it's just a different manner of service, isn't it? Not so different from a soldier!"

Shit, maybe that went too far, comparing the mothers of the Union to soldiers, something far more masculine than they were allowed-

"Heh, well, you're not entirely wrong there!" O'Rourke chuckled, tired looking into his glass again. "Raising children is rather like commanding a battalion!"

"Speaking of which how is Garette doing?" Kharis asked kindly, and O'Rourke grinned.

"He's well. Tired, but well. We just had our third in April, you know, so we're getting a full house. How about you, Eric, when can we expect baby announcements?"

Eric let his face grow pink, looking down at his shoes, hoping the shyness would be charming, and he was right. The general let out a bawdy laugh, and hurriedly apologized.

"I'm sorry, Miss, my mistake- god I'm tired- I'm sure you'll let us know soon enough, hm? I expect a Carrier with the bravery to register himself to make a wonderful, strong mother. Could use more like you- did you hear about the situation in Omaha, Page?"

"I have not, Sir."

"Just happened, fucking mess. Another Carrier missing."

Eric's hold on Kharis tightened, his head popping up to pay attention to this little bit of drama. Beside him, Kharis bristled, his stance becoming stiff.

"Runner?" He asked pertly, but O'Rourke shook his head 

"Not from the CEC, no. 28, Home visit with dad, dad apparently thought his grown ass son was safe on his own. Dunno if he took off on his own or-"

"Last report we have of traffickers was Olathe, last week, correct? Two in custody?"

"Yeah, but that's just the ones we know. They're a tight lipped lot-"

"D'you think you'll find him?" Eric couldn't help himself, he had to interject, and he waited for an answer, unsure of which would soothe him.

Kharis smiled tightly at his bride, one that failed to reach his eyes. "They'll do everything they can to find him, darling, and bring him home to his father safe and sound."

"But if someone took him-"

"Don't worry yourself on it, Miss, that sort of stress isn't good for you." O'Rourke drained his glass. "Alone or taken, he sure as shit hasn't gone far, not within 2 hours."

"If someone took him where would they go?" He asked further, unable to keep his mouth shut, and while Kharus seemed to want him quiet, the older man answered directly.

"Norse countries, perhaps, where birth rates are low, or down south, to be a cartels bride. Also get some fringe cults, who think a man needs 3 childbearing wives to reach salvation."

"But you'll find him, if someone took him-"

"Well probably," O'Rourke continued on, glancing around for someone to refill his glass. "It can be a while though, and sometimes we don't find them at all or in one-"

"Sweetheart, why don't you go back and keep Owen company, hm?" Kharis suggested suddenly, curling his arm behind him to gently press him back towards the table, where Owen was quite pleasantly making his way through a plate of cheese.

"But-!" Eric began to whine, but Kharis's face was calm, firn, and still, and Eric knew that arguing here in front of a superior would do no good for either of them.

"Alright," he agreed, nodding obediently and making a mental note to drag more details out of this later. He turned towards the table, feeling Kharis's eyes on him the whole time as he wove through the milling crowd, and while that feeling had a tinge of claustrophobia to it, mostly, it was comforting.

)))(((

"I still think you shoulda gone, Kyle, it would do you good to get out."

Kyle shrugged as he hung his uniform jacket up in the doorway to the bathroom, where his new bride was currently having a hot soak. He held his jacket at arms length, looking for wrinkles or lint or dog hair.

"Naw, Dove, I'm alright. I have to go back in tomorrow and I just don't wanna leave you alone before then."

Dove rolled his eyes, pulling one foot up out of the water, letting the bubbles run down his leg.

"Yeah but it sounds like a good time. Ida gone if I wasn't still Typhoid Dove."

"We can have Kharis and Eric over for supper some weekend, how about that? I bet between the two of us we could conjure up something to play house and feed guests."

Dove nodded, covertly trying to hide the still present dripping of his nose, and let the warmth of the bath comfort him. He liked those words. Two of us. It said that at the very least, Kyle wanted to put forth some effort, didn't see himself as being above doing a little work in the kitchen now that hed gotten himself a housewife ...good. Dove was not the best in the kitchen, though hed promised his new husband to learn some of his favorite recipes. It was only fair, since he'd be the one home all day…

And there was that pit in his stomach again, thinking about Kyle going back to work, seeing him fluff out his uniform, shining his boots...god, Dove missed that. Not the military aspect, since he'd never enlisted, but just getting ready for work, sorting out his papers and files and chip after chip of code, late nights with a lot of coffee and the other men. He'd had this whole week sick in bed to buffer his time between the CEC and his high, holy calling of laundry baskets and dish soap, but now that was over. Tomorrow he'd see his new husband off to work and he'd be left alone in this new house, to sort out boxes and clothes and pretend he knew the first thing about home making-

"No, Cantaloupe, not on my jacket!"

Well. Almost alone. 

"C'mere, Lope," Dove called, and the lanky grey hound bound over to his new mom eagerly, pawing at the edge of the tub. "You gonna keep me company tomorrow, right boy?"

In response, Cantaloupe just put his paws up onto the edge of the tub, looking warily into the water; Lope loved water, unless it came from the tub.

"I'm sure he's gonna be happy to help you get settled in," Kyle answered, since Lope was a dog of few words. "And I'll have my phone on me ok? They're pretty lax with that once you get married, so you can reach me if anything wrong, ok?"

Dovine nodded, drifting his hand through the foam. 

"And you get home at 6?"

"Maybe a little after, no later than 6:30."

Dove nodded, trying to envision how to fill 9 hours alone, when he'd been living dorm style for nearly a year.

"Hey uh...Kyle? We got some time before bed, it's early...you wanna like, put on a movie or something?"

"Oh...yeah! Yeah, hon, we can do that-"

"Cause I'm still feeling kinda achey, and I know we haven't been able to do anything since the wedding, but it still sounds kinda nice to like curl up or-"

"Dovine, hush," Kyle implored of his new wife, testing the side of the tub for dryness, then lowering himself down onto it. "Its ok, h-honey-" poor fuck was still awkward about pet names, seeking to want to use them but also not wanting Dove to feel awkward- "you're still getting better, and it's nit like we're a couple virgins who waited years for their wedding night. So we can...I got popcorn, we can pull some blankets onto the couch...I don't got any wine, but I have pop-"

"The real shit or diet selzer?" Asked a skeptical Dovine, 11 months into the CEC way of eating.

"Real shit. Duh."

"You know the way to my heart, Kyle."

)))(((

Eric held his shit together the rest of supper, let himself be hugged and kissed by strangers as they left, and slid into his seat, ready to interrogated Kharis as soon as he got in his side. But something stopped him, quite quickly. As soon as Kharis closed the door behind him and the cab light went out, he reached over, grabbing Eric around the shoulders and clung to him, burying his face into his neck.

"...Kharis?" Eric cautioned, slowly easing his arms back around him, letting one hand over his bound hair. "You uh...you ok?"

Kharis didn't answer immediately, just breathed in Eric's scent, nearly crushing the smaller Carrier.

"Kharis? Sweetie, what-"

"Eric, please promise me something," he sighed, and Eric almost thought he heard a shake to his voice in that dark, quiet car. "Please, if nothing else, please don't run from me."

Eric's own heart sped up, and he tried to pull back, to reach for the light, but Kharis wouldn't let him go. "Kharis-"

"No, Eric, please," he begged. "Please...if I can't make you happy, if you want out, please let me know, I'll do anything I can for you, I'll give you a divorce, no contest, but please don't run away, Eric."

Duck, potatoes, the scent of Owen's relish all churned about in his belly, both at what Kharis said and what was left unsaid. 

"Kharis...I love you," he murmured, still petting his hair. "I don't want -"

"We barely know each other, Eric, and I know you're young," Kharis pressed on. "If you change your mind, I would ...I would rather see you happy with another man that have you run away, and I never know what happened to you!"

Yeah, Eric wanted to puke, definitely, and he just ran his hands over Khariss back, trying to not let his mind wander about, imagining that Carrier from Omaha, the one who maybe ran, maybe wouldn't come back home.

"Kharis...is that Carrier gonna be ok?" He all but breathed into the dark, but Kharis couldn't seem to find the strength to answer, and Eric knew it must pain him to give the answer through his silence.

"...ok, Kharis. I promise, I won't run from you. I won't."


	29. First Interlude

"What do you mean you haven't planned anything?" Bemoaned Perry one evening after supper as dorm B milled around, winding down for bed.

Eric shrugged, concentrating on the needle in his hand as he hemmed up a pair of hand me down pants from Owen, who was a good 4 inches taller than Eric was 

"What's to plan?" He wanted to know. "I don't have to pick a venue, or buy a dress, I'm borrowing a suit from my new brother in law, Daisuke. No band, no dancing, don't gotta pick between a judge or a priest, what's left?"

"A cake," quipped Tomas, who was craving sweets at a pretty steady rate these days. "I told you, I want chocolate."

"And you should think about maybe doing your nails and face," said Amber, a new Carrier who's folder actually read Andrew. He was one of those like Owen, who took to the change with relative ease, accepting their new bodies and new roles while others fought tooth and nail. Naturally femme and easy going, Eric use to pity those men, but now, approaching his own inevitability, he held just a morsel of envy.

"My face is fine," Eric defended.

Amber didn't disagree; "You could also just do a sweep of mascara, maybe some blush...definitely let one of us do your nails."

He looked down at his hands, flecks of orange polish still clinging to the middle of his nails. Dove had painted them for him last, a few days before his wedding, and most of it had worn away.

"Maybe…"

"And I still think you should wear a veil." His small budge seemed to have emboldened Perry, and Eric made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.

"Those are tacky and outdated," he argued, but Perry persisted. 

"Not some big gaudy thing," He insisted. "Just something small, those kind that pin under. You're a bride, and if you're gonna wear a suit you should wear a veil so you look more feminine than Kharis-"

"Khariss arms are as wide as my head, I don't think that's gonna be an issue-"

"And your hair's just long enough for it to look nice."

"I'm gettin my hair cut this Sunday."

"What?? Why?"

Eric shrugged, taking another careful stitch. "Cause Kharis said it's my hair and I can do what I want with it and I want it shorter."

Perry groaned, whining about how he wished his hair wasn't so coily, so he could see how long it had actually gotten, and Eric let him have his little fit. Honestly the entire wedding fiasco was of little interest to him. He'd show up, listen to a speech, trade 45 seconds of vows they didn't choose, kiss, and then Eric McDaugh would be Eric Page, owned property with a new clock ticking down, 18 months tops till his first pregnancy. The entire situation was too overwhelming to think about flowers or cake. He just wanted it over with so he could move out of the CECs watch and actually start getting to know the man he was promising his heart, soul and body to...that was a plus at least. He missed Kharis something awful by the end of the week when they'd see each other again, and after marriage there wouldn't be nearly as much red tape between him and his family. Dad wanted to come over for supper, teach Kharis how to grill, make steaks and brats and fresh roasted corn. Eric let his mind slip tentatively forward, Christmas back home, just like it should be, just plus one...well, then plus 2, eventually, but if kids were good for anything it was for Christmas mornings…

"So you're gonna get a chocolate cake right?"

"Oh for God's sake Tomas yes well have chocolate cake."

)))(((

Owen grit his teeth, trying to breathe slow and even through the pressure of a false contraction. Not true pain, they were still not something he particularly enjoyed, and tried to remember the shit all those books told him. This was good, this was normal, this was what his body was supposed to do to get ready for the baby's arrival. Finally, the tightness eased, and he got in a deep, full breath. Well, as much as he could, with his bundle of joy crowding out his lungs. And his stomach, giving him heartburn, and his bladder, waking him 6 times a night to pee. Fucking christ.

Owen loved being pregnant, though. Mostly. He didn't like the back aches, but he loved Teagan massaging his back for him, lotion and peppermint oil working out the knots along his spine. It was nice, since he barely knew the man when they got married, to have something so big and so important in common. Nothing broke the ice like making a baby with someone.

He sighed again, digging his bare feet into the thick carpet, rocking his chair back and forth gently. Teagan had done well on the nursery, which made sense. He'd had 4 children, 3 of whom were still living; he knew how to put together a crib, how to paint a wall without drips or streaks; the pale sagey green was calming around him, a backdrop to a shelf full of teddy bears and blocks, momentos from Teagans older children. In the center, sat a stuffed rabbit, bright pink clashing with the rooms pastels, a worn bow drooping around its neck; it belonged to Caroline, Teagans only daughter. Had she lived, she would be 2 years older than Owen was now. Of course, he had never met her; Owen was 6 years old when the plague took his own mother from him, almost 2 decades ago. Caroline's picture hung in the living room though, along with her mother's. Denise Demuir had been a pretty woman, soft figured and doe eyed, and in her portrait she held her young daughter tight, the two laughing, sand clinging to their skin at the beach. 

It was the last photo Teagan had of his wife and daughter together, just a month before the first deaths. When Teagan brought Owen home for the first time, he'd looked at that photo with a mix of nostalgia and loss, and then steadied himself. 

"I can't replace them for you, Teagan," he had told his date point blank, already suspecting he was pregnant with the man's child. "I can be an agreeable wife to you, I can give you babies and raise them well, but I can't replace what you lost, that's not why I'm here."

Teagan had agreed wholeheartedly, saying he never expected such a thing, and he would never want any bride of his to try. This was a new life, not a recreation of the old.

Another flutter passed through his belly, and at this point sometimes it was getting harder to tell Braxton-Hicks from his baby's kicking; the latter was growing less frequent now as their child became crowded, nearly full grown now. Less than a month to go.

Deep breath in, slowly out, practice for labor in October, steadying his nerves now. Ears pricked, he listened for the sound of Teagans car door, wondering if he would bring home dinner or make something at home; Owen couldn't stand being on his feet that long now, so if he was in charge of dinner, it had to go into the crock pot, but he slept far too late that day to get anything ready. Teagan hadn't seemed mad; he wasn't the temperamental sort, yet at least, even dealing with Owens vicious hormones the last 8 months. Some men took the war and the plague and let it bitter them, enrage them. Others, it tore them apart inside, and they'd been struggling to find themselves every since. And some took it as a warning, having lost the most precious parts of their lives, to not take such for granted again. Teagan, it seemed, was the last. At least, he hoped.

)))(((

Being home alone wasn't nearly as bad as Dove initially thought it could be; at least, not at first. It was peaceful, to throw open all the windows, air out the house, and start unpacking. Kyle had been assigned the new house once they'd made a wedding date, and with Dove out with the flu for a hot minute, very few nonessentials had made it out of boxes. So Dovine busied himself, taking scissors to tape, unfolding tissue paper from dishes and bowls, sorting silverware, shelving books. Perfect little domestic homemaker, he thought to himself. Gold star for Dovine Miller.

Outside, the September skies were bright, still hot, and windy as ever. Crystal blue, no clouds. Across the street, his new neighbor watered his flowers, a baby on his hip, no older than maybe 7 or 8 months. Cute thing, dark hair. Dove didn't know the mothers name, he hadn't introduced himself yet; meeting Carriers was frightening, as he never knew what level of brainwashed or abused or forward thinking they might be. Well. At least he had Owen two doors down to go bother when he got tired of nursing cardboard cuts.

)))(((

With 2 weeks left on his maternity leave, Taylor was eyeing the calendar with a measured scoop of worry. Just two more weeks, and it didn't seem to be nearly enough. Kaylin still seemed way too little to go stay with Kim's step mom Brendan all day. He still wanted to only nurse, he wouldn't take a bottle no matter what was in it or who it was from.

"You just wanna be near mama a while longer don't you sweetie?" He asked the baby swaddled in a wrap to his chest, but Kaylin gave no reply as he slept on, warm from his mother. Across the kitchen Tori fed himself pasta, cut into small pieces. It was messy, tomato sauce clinging to his cheeks, but he was 3 now and wanted to do every little thing himself, which was fine with Taylor.

2 weeks...he could always talk to Jameson about an extension on his leave, without pay. They didn't need the money; sure he had to redo their budget a bit now with Kaylin, but any man with a Carrier bride made more than enough to support a family, and they didn't pay for housing on base...just another 2 weeks, maybe. 2 months maternity sounded fine, didn't it?...but Jesus he missed his boys. Perry had a steady boyfriend now, Cedric stopped throwing up from nerves every class, Eric was getting married…he could bring Kaylin to work, maybe. It was always good for his Carriers to be around children, since most of them had never seen a baby before, and he wore him, so he had his hands free to teach…

No, that wouldn't work, not yet. He spent so much time on the infirmary with new Carriers that it wouldn't be good for Kaylin, all the chemicals and cleaning supplies and noise. 2 more weeks then, just 2…

"Momma, more!" Cried Tori, obviously still hungry since half his pasta had ended up on the table or on his face. Taylor took his plate and put another small scoop on to it for him, cutting eat chunk of meat small for little fingers. 

"Here you go sweetie," he sighed, watching as Tori eagerly devoured his lunch, stopping to tell his mommy something about his dog (they didn't own a dog). Didn't matter. He just liked hearing him talk, his sweet little boy, his absolute miracle. 

Just 2 more weeks. Another 14 days with his newborn, if Jameson would allow it. There was no workers protection for Taylor. His service to their country was right in front of him, bearing and raising his children. Work was a privilege, one few Carriers had...some days he missed work in his dads shop, their little grocery store always making him smell like fish, which he hated then but missed now. But dad hadn't spoken to him since he changed. An abomination, their church had said. Further temptation and punishment. It didn't change what he was, didn't make him a woman, he was something broken now.

Not man enough for the government, too much a man for that backwoods church. Fancy that.

But he had his sons. Even if he had to cut hours at work, he had his two beautiful boys, with a future, a real chance at good things...probably...

"Tori, sweet boy, please, don't Change," he whispered to his toddler, who really couldn't be added to listen to mom. "…I'll love you, I'd teach you, I know you could be happy, and you'd make me such a happy gramma...but it's just not fair for people like us."

)))(((

"Jun, sweetie, if you don't start growing soon you're gonna give your old 'kaasan worry wrinkles," Daisuke sighed, snapping his baby's onsie closed between his legs. 4 months old and his little one could still fit most of his newborn clothes. His doctor said he was healthy and strong, said sometimes mixed children favor one parent more than the other; for a Japanese infant, he was pretty squarely average, but still, Daisuke worried; Jamal was quite tall, and had been a big baby, and this was Daisukes first, after all…

Jun didn't seem to notice his mother's worries though; he kicked his feet happily, chewing on his fist while Daisuke tried to get socks on his wriggly little feet. He kissed each one, loving how tiny his toes were. Toes, he had decided upon holding his newborn those first hours, exhausted from 15 hours of labor, were the best part of the baby. Tiny and chubby and all curled up and, currently, smelling like the baby wash from his bath.

As dressed as he was gonna be, Daisuke rummaged in his bedroom caddy, keeping one hand on his squirmy infant as his other rooted out a bottle. He dribbled just a tiny bit of the nutty-smelling oil onto his palm, rubbed his hands together, then massaged his fingers delicately over Jun's head, trying to remember how Jamal showed him to twist Jun's puffball down into curls. His own hair was ruler straight, thick and heavy, so it was a skill he had never practiced before, but he refused to send his baby in front of the world looking like his mama didn't know what he was doing, no sir, not Daisuke Page, former petty officer, grade 2, Union Navy. Not on his fucking watch. 

...god he was tired. He scooped his baby up to settle on his hip, then up closer to his chest; He still seemed too floppy and small to be sitting there, and as ever, Daisuke worried.

"Ok, sweetie, how about mom has some breakfast, so he can feed you, huh?" He suggested, heading to the kitchen to grab his usual meal, a blueberry bagel, cream cheese, strawberry jelly. He stopped though, reaching for the bread cabinet, at the yellow sticky note pressed to the door, and let himself have a small laugh .

"Look, sweetie, what daddy left us," he told his son, tapping the wood with a fingernail; Jun, being 4 months old and thus still kinda dumb, widened his eyes and the frightening noise and looked around wildly.

"I bring takeout tonight?" The note read, more or less. Actually it read closer to "I am takeout?" But Daisuke got the message; Jamal was adamant about learning Japanese and damn it, he was trying.


	30. The Freedom of Flying

Usually Kharis was at work by 7am, 6 days a week, but it was still cadet Hell season and General Page was running drills at 5am. Again. 43 recent academy graduates rushed around the track at lackluster pace, failed miserably through the tires and hung onto a pullup bars like wet dish rags. For the love of God the academy was slacking off; he'd expected their criteria for graduation to increase after children started to be born again, and everyone had some sort of future to work for, but apparently they just wanted to baby them along till graduation in the hopes that Fort Wardon would kick them into shape. Pathetic...still, they had to make due. This was the last class for the next 14 years, and if he was being fair, Kharis could spot a handful of men who showed some promise and would make fine soldiers, provided they didn't turn to drink, they put in the work, and they didn't change.

It was...honestly it was jarring to spend the day dealing with a group of 18 year old men, shouting as loud as he could and just daring them to talk back, to dinner with his 18 year old Carrier fiance, bracelets on his wrists and color on his nails, daring any other man to even look at his bride wrong. Eric could have just as easily been one of these recruits, shorn hair and blisters from combat boots, had he not been one of those, ah…"lucky few" whose bodies defected from the norm. Eric would have graduated in June, done 3 months boot camp with the academy, and then been here, another last name to yell out when he lagged behind, Eric bitching the general out at night in the barracks rather than kissing him behind half closed CEC doors.

By the time the lunch bells rang across the fort, Kharis was more than ready to get out of the sun and go gulp down some coffee, see what he'd thrown into his bag that morning for lunch and try to get Eric on the phone. With a wedding less than 10 days away, he had to admit he was having some degree of separation anxiety.

His plans, however, were not to be, as he had visitors already waiting for him outside his office.

"General O'Rourke," He greeted in salute, awkwardly aware of the coffee cup sloshing in his other hand, and greeted Lt. Marco in a less formal hello, being the man's superior.

"Page, we were just looking for you," O'Rourke smiled, looking as always like he needed the coffee more than Kharis. "Fancy a lunch together?"

What, like he could say no?

The trio settled into Pages office, Marco fetching them more coffee, O'Rourke passing around slices of banana bread his wife had made.

"He's...gotten better with baking since the cinnamon roll incident hasn't he?" Kharis asked, half joking but also half not wanting to see if he mistook the flour and powdered sugar again; Kharis had nearly chipped a tooth on the glue-like frosting.

"He has," O'Rourke answered good naturedly, taking a bite to show them. "After he glommed up the oven overfilling a muffin tin I found a cooking class for him through a different CEC."

"Does he like it?" Kharis asked with as much nonchalance as he could.

"Loves it," his superior answered heartily. "It's just an hour a week, but he gets to see his friends, the new Carriers get to practice looking after children and I get an hour to do my paperwork without having to convince Ash that files aren't coloring books."

"My two are still in the "I eat everything" phase," sighed Marco, who had 1 year old twins at home. "And by everything I mean everything off the floor, not everything we give them, god no."

Kharis laughed politely, trying to not think too terribly far into his own future, about the fact that he had no idea how a hyperactive teenager and an officer who could barely keep up with his own laundry were suppose to keep a child alive.

"...so weddings in what, 2 weeks, Page? You nervous?" O'Rourke asked, because of course he would. Staunch and rule abiding as any CO had to be, he was also surprisingly empathetic, and brilliant at reading people. 

"Not about my choice, no," Kharis replied easily, storing a splash of milk into his coffee, pleased at the creamy tan swirls in his cup. "Just worried about my Eric. I think he's still homesick for his father and brother."

"Well that's easy to remedy isn't it?" Marco asked, with a casual flippancy that sometimes had Kharis wondering how he made it to Lieutenant general. "Unless you and his dad hate each other."

"I'm a man older than him stealing away his son to be the mother of my children," he said dryly, taking a long gulp of coffee. "I'm just counting my blessings he hasnt broke into my house to castrate me."

Marco laughed easily, raising his cup in cheers. "Fair, Sir, fair. My father in law isn't crazy about me either but at least he's older than me. You hit the awkward jackpot there."

"Marco, shut up."

"Yes, Sir."

O'Rourke rolled his eyes, downing his coffee black.

"You're gonna be fine, Page. The shit you've gone through, getting married is gonna be a breeze. They put you through the wringer at the CEC?"

"You mean their marriage counseling? Yup. I basically got read the riot act because I hadn't knocked up a fucking 17 year old as soon as he agreed to a third date."

Marco, figuring his gag order had run its course, nodded knowingly. 

"When Isaac changed, there was an endgame kid at his CEC. Fucking 15 years old, had his first kid a week after he turned 16. It's fucking sic-"

"It's federal law," O'Rourke said quietly, his voice solid and holding a hint of warning. "It would do you well to watch what you disparage, especially in uniform."

"You gonna tell on me, General?" Marco laughed, though there was an undercurrent of real anxiety and trepidation in his voice.

O'Rourke shook his head slowly. "No, I won't, but the walls have ears, Lieutenant, and it isn't wise to be so forward with your personal judgements of the Union government."

The three silently contemplated their coffee cups for a moment, as though each were listening for the whine and crackle of microphones and cameras, even though Kharis knew this was paranoia; he programmed 60% of the security software used this side of the Rockies, and installed everything in this base himself.

Still, he was right to warn them, to remind them. There were a great many things that could get them arrested for treason, have their marriages anulled, their children given to other men. Their lives could be ruined just for not keeping their damned mouths shut about what the collective nations had agreed to as being appropriate requirements for their Carriers. National fucking resources after all.

Kharis's stomach twisted, caffeine not agreeing with him now, as a pinch of familiar guilt came over him. Was it better, he had asked himself, the first time he was offered a bride, to lessen the suffering of one man, but still participate in a corrupt system, or abstain entirely from this caste system of slavery when he could save at least one? Fucking damned if he did and damned if he didnt.

"Well, where are you taking your little Mrs.for a honeymoon then?" O'Rourke continued politely, trying to thaw the chill in the air.

"Ah...the coast. South Carolina. I was stationed there for a while, when I got back from Shanghai. It's beautiful, it'll be warm, and Eric has never seen the ocean. Rented a room right off the beach at a bed and breakfast."

"That's sweet," Marco gushed earnestly. "I took Isaac to Maine, stayed for two weeks, he loved the old inns and lighthouses, it was terribly romantic."

Kharis had a feeling Marco liked the inns and lighthouses as well, as sappy as he could be; Kharis liked the bastard, quite a bit. He was refreshing to be around.

"Well, you've got a new home lined up, a salary to support a good 10 kids, and you're not the ugliest fuck I've ever met. Dunno what you're all worked up about," his superior said lightly, and poured himself another of coffee.

Kharis shrugged, twirling a loose bit of hair back into his bun. "Come on, the two of you told me enough horror stories about the first year with your wives to put the fear of god in me," he pointed out. Marco shrugged..

"Hey, mine came back from Maine pregnant, that's to be expected."

"They're just scared," O'Rourke explained easily, chugging down his coffee. "They all are and for damn good reason. It took over a year before Garette stopped trying to bait me into a fight...I yell too much, I know that, when I get stressed, but i would never fucking hit a man who couldn't hold his own back. He finally lost his shit one night, working himself up into a panic, had to pin his ass down and lock him in our room for an hour till he calmed himself down."

"Sounds better than beating the piss out of him," Kharis conceded, trying to envision his Eric going off like that. "Eric is...calm. He has a good family to support him, it helps -"

"He'll still lose it, Page."

"And here I thought you were trying to comfort me," he said, raising his eyebrows accusingly, and O'Rourke only showed his palms up, silently saying, what can I do?

"Well, he will. He's 18, he's getting married, law expects a pregnancy in 18 months; last minute scenario he's a mom by 20. If it was me, I'd fucking fight you, even if I liked you."

"They're scared," Marco repeated, and there was something in his eyes that told of his own anxiety. At 34, Marco still had that chance. Hell, word going around was that soon men under the age of 36 wouldn't even be allowed to marry; it was rare, but it happened, marriages falling apart after a husband changed, everything a crap shoot. "They're just scared...I slapped Isaac a couple times, when he tried to go after me, but he was hysterical...fucking hate that I did it, stupid...but it's hard to figure out what to do when your Carrier goes into screaming fits just daring you to beat them."

Kharis knew about that; Marco had taken a week long leave after he struck his wife, trying to figure out what the hell to do with himself; it was a stark contrast to most of the married men Kharis knew, who considered it to be just par for the course, wanting submissive, obedient Carriers more than they wanted companionship.

"I'd rather cut off my own damn hand than strike Eric," Kharis said firmly. Just picturing the man in front of him, a foot shorter and half his weight; Kharis could hurt him, so easily, and so badly, without even trying. "He needs to get that out of his system, fine. He wants to act up and scream in public, then we go home, or I handle it like O'Rourke. Hell, he works himself up into a dangerous enough fit then I'd sooner hold him down to not hurt himself than hit him. He can be mad at me for embarrassing him if he wants, better than being afraid of me."

"You're a decent man, Page," said O'Rourke as he emptied his second cup. "My advice, just get it in the open early. Everything they're taught tells them to be good and sweet and do whatever you want, and a lesser man can get intoxicated by that. When we were in counseling, the CEC shrink told me right in front of him that the best thing I could do for Garette was to keep him home, keep him safe, keep him pregnant. And the problem is not one of those 3 things is wrong, it's just said in a way that assumes a lot more dominant than I think you're willing to give. Just lay out whatever you want from him from the start, and expect the same standards from him."

Kharis nodded, still having trouble envisioning his fiance losing his shit the way he colleagues said their wives did. Sure, there was the whole situation with running from his CO and clambering up refrigerators, but running wasn't screaming. Hiding wasn't a hysterical fit, and hey, he'd managed to talk Eric down from that, hadn't he?

...regardless, Kharis wasn't a man to strike his bride. The very idea made his stomach sick. He'd get Eric through any emotional outbursts he has, he'd teach him to smile and mind at parties and balls and conferences, he'd reward him handsomely for it. But he'd never strike him.

That was one marriage quandary down, then.

Hm. Well. Now how to explain to Eric his nightmares.

)))(((

Heading into his second week home alone was starting to weigh on Dove. There just wasn't very much to do in a new house all day, and this was coming from a guy who was very good at entertaining himself and keeping himself busy.

"It's part of the conspiracy, Owen," he told his friend over the phone as he very meticulously dried the dishes. 

"How-hic!- so?" Asked Owen, then softly cursed; 3rd time he'd had the hiccups that day, and while none of his baby books mentioned this as a pregnancy effect, he was still gonna blame the pregnancy.

"Because! I'm bored all day and by the time 6 o'clock rolls around I can't wait to see Kyle!"

"I thought you liked Kyle?"

"That's not the point," he bemoaned, throwing a handful of clean spoons in the silverware drawer. "He's fine, we're getting along ok, we're doing horror movie nights, it's great, but I mean…"

"You barely - hic!"- know him?"

"Exactly. Uuugh- Cantaloupe no, those are clean- what did you do all day after you got married?"

"Mostly binge watched soap operas and read trashy romance novels. So. Same shit I did when I ditched class back at -hic!- Stillwater."

Dove rolled his eyes, and shook his head to try and get some of his loose hair out of his face. 

"You're such trash, Owen, you know that?" He said, and Owen just laughed, and hiccuped, and swore. Suddenly, Cantaloupe, usually glued to Doves side, rushed over to the door, tapping his paws about excitedly.

"Oh- hey, Owen, Kyle's home, I'll call you tomorrow ok? Or I can come over for lunch?...love you too, ciao."

The front door opened to Lopes enthusiastic yipping, far too small a sound for such a big dog, and his husband's voice called out just as cheery.

"Ey, there's my little guy," he greeted his beloved dog, scratching him behind his ears till Lope smiled, tongue lolling out. "Ah, and my lovely wife!"

Dove closed the space between then, letting Kyle kiss him hello. He liked the little gesture, it was just, he felt almost bad for liking it, guilty at such a supposedly gross domestic display. 

"Hey, sweetie, drama free day?"

"It's always drama free in recon," he sighed, hanging his cap on a hook behind the door and slipping out of his jacket. "Idiocy, on the other hand? Ugh. Graduates and cadets all over the place, and some dumbshit overwrite backup files for our B52 project."

Taking Kyle's jacket, Dove made a sour face. "Y'all are still working on that?" He asked incredulously, folding his jacket carefully over his arm. "That shit was getting old when I was still working there."

"Yup. It's a fucking train wreck. If you ask me it's a lot of effort for a project barely worth it. The program is running more on the botiety of the machines name than anything we can actually learn from ita build."

"Bullshit, it's timeless for a reason," Dove began, and immediately he was on a long diatribe exposing the wonders of classic 20th century air machines, fighter jets and stealth bombers as he worked on dinner, including a 10 minute long sidetrack about turn of the century radar as he sauteed mushrooms for their pork chops.

"And another thing, Union tech is not the same across countries, I don't care what kind of bullshit pseudo-socialist act they have going, the US, UK and western Europe still get the same preferential treatment in funding that they always did, so even if we don't find use to it it's always something we can export to help build up other Union- why are you laughing at me?!" Dove asked, outraged and just a smidge embarrassed at his husbands broad smile.

"I'm-! I'm not, Dovine, promise," He said, even as he chuckled. "It's just...Jesus, I wished half our guys had your enthusiasm. You talk about writing code and doing Ph tests on old fuel tanks like some people talk about a gourmet dinner!"

Dove aighed, still blushing as he spooned the mushrooms atop pork chops, doling out mashed potatoes on the side. "What can I say? I like my- liked. I liked my work...but uh! Hey, hey, um, what about something haunted tonight huh? We did gore last night, I was thinking something classic like Poltergeist or just vintage, maybe the Ring or The Conjuring?"

"...sure, baby, that sounds good," Kyle said softly, thanking his wife for the plate with a kiss.

)))(((

Kyle had to leave for work regrettably early the next morning, leaving his bride to have a lie in, and so Dove woke up almost luxuriously late to leftover pancakes and a note taped to the bathroom mirror

"Dove,  
Can you please dust and vacuum my office? And sweep the corners. Please be careful around the computer, I left it on to download something.  
-K"

"Careful my ass," Dive grumbled, tossing the note aside to wash his face in the sink. "So here it starts, treating me like a kid who needs to be minded. Well I'll mind his ass," and his grumbling continued more or less constantly through the morning, till he finally stormed in with a broom, a rag, and a bottle of lemon furniture polish, to find his computer indeed, on, and logged in, a disk open on the monitor, displaying a page Dove recognized easily as the B52 project. Or at least what was left of it, after that new kid 86'd a good chunk of it. Staring at the long string of black text on white, Doves mind was immediately filling in the gaps, binary and html commands springing back into his head after a year of non use-

Oh. God, yeah, it...it was a year now. The 21st would mark one year since Dovine woke up with nauseous pains and a raging fever, walked out of his barracks to sick bay and never walked back in.

...well. fuck that, then, and he sat himself down at his husbands chair, scrolling down the barely recovered files to see just how bad the damage was. Kyle Miller, that sly sonofabitch, he was absolutely getting laid that night. 

After Dove finished with this mess, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after 30 damn chapters who's ready for a wedding ?


	31. Wedding Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly as much time has passed since I posted the first chapter to when I posted this one, as "real time " has passed in the story for Erics time at Stillwater and I'm rather pleased with that.
> 
> Enjoy!

September 19th was turning out to be one of the first cool days of the season, overcast and foggy when Eric woke up, which was rare for the sunny, dry plains. 6:45 am, teeth brushed and slippers on, he took breakfast on the back porch, curled warm and snug in one of his dad's sweaters. The torn volleyball net, the makeshift soccer half field he and Dove had made with hair spray and flour marking white lines, the tall fences, the wheat fields in the distance. This had been home for Eric for over 7 months now, and staring at the misty world before him, he felt almost afraid to leave it behind. Of course he missed his family and of course he could come back here to see his friends, just like Owen did, and Dove, and older carriers Eric hadn't been schooled with. But it was the fact that he wanted to come back at all that had Eric at odds with himself.

7:07, he finished his oatmeal and milk, half his banana, but couldn't stomach the salty rashers of bacon or the acidic orange juice. Didn't matter. What were they gonna do to him now, ground him from his own damn wedding? Not likely. At 11 am, he'd be standing in front of the curtained window they cheekily called an altar, and a military judge would pronounce them man and wife, and then Eric would have cake and open cards and smile for photos and leave. And he wanted that. God fucking help him, he was almost looking forward to it even. 

Eric McDaugh barely recognized himself as the same boy who had walked through the gates to Stillwater, and maybe that was ok. He had turned 18 in those 7 months, he would have graduated, left home; changes were inevitable at such a tenuous year as 17, and Eric's, perhaps, were no more unwanted than they could have been in another life. By 7:30, he was standing underneath the spray of a hot shower, listening to a couple other early riser Carriers mill on to wash faces, shave legs, shave cheeks, do their hair, and amid that noise and movement Eric realized how desperately he would miss this. Not the classes, maybe, not burning his fingertips at the ironing board, definitely not sitting through seminars where they read Inspirational stories of Carriers ready to forsake profitable careers and titles to be stay at home wives and mothers, and certainly not Jameson and his lecherous eyes, but just...this. A summer at the CEC was almost like the most upside down sleepaway camp, cobbling together a unique culture unlike any Eric thought he'd ever be a part of. Even with Carriers he didn't particularly get along with, he wanted to be around them, because they were alike, they shared something so fucking few others could ever understand. Somewhere along the line, Eric had grown comfortable with the word Carrier, at least by definition of one of his own. The definititon and identity given to them by unchanged men was of no concern when it came to how they saw themselves. Shit, if it wasn't for the draconian laws pressed upon them, Eric felt like he could almost be a little proud of his new title in this messed up world.

He did not, though, take for granted the fact that he could take that slip of pride mostly due to how lucky he had been finding a husband. There was still trepidation and hesitancy in his heart; it wasn't wise for any Carrier to go into marriage with his defenses down, but he...damn it, he trusted Kharis, and maybe that was a mistake, and maybe he would regret it, but he loved the bastard who promised him a degree of freedom outside the cage society had welded for him. Life on a leash was better than life in a box, after all.

By 8:15, he was dried, dressed in shorts and tshirt as his hair dried, waiting for his dad. This would be the first time he got to visit past the lobby and reception, and the first time Daniel would be there at all, and while he was excited, it felt strange to bring them here, to a place they really didn't belong. He'd seen it at Owen's wedding, Doves, Miguels; male visitors stood around awkwardly, being watched so close by guards, eyed warily by Carriers who had come to see men as dangerous. It was awkward on every front, and there was a little guilt pulling at his belly as he padded around the commons room, waiting for them, waiting for Amber to get back from breakfast to do his nails, waiting for-

"Hey, whoreface, where's this beautiful blushing bride we've heard so much about?"

Dovine and Owen wouldn't have missed this for anything, and Eric felt such a pang in his chest as he ran towards them, like it was his first day all over again.

"Dove, hey, missed you," Eric gushed, holding him as though he hadn't seen him in 2 years instead of two weeks.

"Missed you too, don't you dare fucking cry, I remember how hard it was to get Owen here to look decent with his blubbering, please don't make it a repeat performance."

Owen looked like Dove could insult his little brother and he wouldn't give a fuck, and just seemed very intent on finding the comfiest place to sit. Made sense, since he looked approximately 31 months pregnant. 

"You're not done cooking yet?" Eric teased, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, and he knew immediately by the glare on Owen's face that Eric's wedding day privilege was all that saved him right now. And Owen's leg cramps, maybe.

"My due date is October 2nd, but my doctor says the first time you can go over by like a week and still be ok...god, I could not do another week, this kid is killing me!"

"Oh come on you know as soon as you're holding it you're gonna love it, you're the sentimental sappy type like that," Dove scoffed, handing him a pillow from across the couch to settle behind his back. "Now shut up, you're being an attention whore, we're here for Eric, and we only have like 3 hours to turn him into a halfway decent bride-"

"Eric's adorable, he could go out wearing CEC sweats and look better than you did."

"I had a 103 fever the whole ceremony, your old ass husband would make a prettier bride than I was, Owen, the bar is not very high!"

"At least he's self aware" Owen stage whispered to Eric, who tried to laugh, he really did, and succeeded for about 2 seconds, but the emotional damn he'd built just wasn't very structurally sound, and it quickly devolves into tears.

"Wh- Eric honey what's wrong?!" Dove asked, wide eyed as he took Eric into his arms. Eric sank in gratefully, warm and secure for a moment, and continued to thoroughly wet Dove's blouse with tears. 

"Honey...you ok? Did something happen?" Dove asked softly, a certain weight to those words shared only between Eric and Dove, but Eric shook his head no. "Ok, you got cold feet?"

He shook his head again. And Dove just rubbed his hands in broad circles over Erics back.

"Ok...ok, baby, are you pregnant?"

"No!"

"....you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure," He moaned pitifully into the crook of Doves neck. "We've been careful, and I had my period last week. I'm not...I'm just…"

"It's a lot," said Owen carefully, trying to lean himself as far forward as he could to pet through Eric's hair. "Even if you want it, it's a lot, Eric. Just get it out, and you'll feel better."

Having their permission to bawl his eyes out shouldn't have mattered so much, but it did, and he really put his back into it then, clinging to Dove and not really caring about the string of Carriers passing by, going about their morning. A few shuffled away awkwardly, most at least whisper-asked Dove and Owen if he was ok. Wedding jitters, they'd smile, assuring them Eric was fine.

And he was. He probably was, or would be. It felt good to stress relieve a little bit. A seven minute mini tantrum to purge his system and tire out his heart.

"Better now?" Asked Dove, holding Eric at arms length, and when he nodded, Dove tapped his cheek. "Ok, good, got that out of your system, now it's time to pull your shit together, McDaugh."

They drug him away to the bathroom (Well Dove drug, Owen waddled) and suddenly it was his first night all over again, except instead of getting him ready for his first dinner, they were trying to pull him together for his wedding.

"Ok, all that salt just got your face blotchy, keep this on your cheeks and eyes, it'll help," Dove said, taking control and handing Eric a cold cloth. It was soothing on his hot skin, and he sniffled, still hiccuping slightly from his cry. "We'll get you looking just fine, huh? That way you won't have to look back at your wedding photos and wanna burn them like me."

So he spent the next hour sat on a bathroom counter with them, Dove giving him a mini lesson as he did his makeup, showing him how to not look like a Victorian prostitute when he used blush, how to make his eyes look big, how to put creams and powders near his jaw and cheeks to try to compliment whatever masculinity his face decided to keep. Eric said little, but he absorbed everything, figuring wives would be expected to look Carrier ideal at military balls or whatever the hell they called their big parties.

Perry, Zion, and Tomas took up camp too, passing around drinks and offering advice for Eric's hair, now just past his ears after a trim, dusting just above his eyes. Still enough, Perry was sure, to do something with, pins or a little braid across the top. Eric really couldn't be fussed one way or another about his hair, so he allowed Perry to French braid a bit of it, like a thin headband, securing the end above one ear with a few bobby pins and a clip ending in a cluster of little white pearls. He still refused a veil, and he figured this was Perry's last ditch effort at making Eric look bridal.

Fine, if it made him happy.

They drug him to his room next, still a single (Eric figured since he had seniority and was about to be married, the powers that be put off a roommate) and Dove and Owen made themselves right at home. Owen especially took to the spare bed with zest, stretching out on his side and looking ready for a nap as Dove helped him dress. Daisuke had been more than generous to loan him such a nice suit, which he'd worn to his own wedding; white and cream, it was cut distinctly into the new style designed for them, with a longer coat, flaring over the hips and a more fitted waist than what they might have worn pre-change. It fasted with silver scrollwork buttons, at both the front and a row up his sleeves. He stood as still as possible while Dove and Amber tried to figure out his tie; neither had tied a bowtie in a hot minute, and this was supposed to be rounder and softer than the crisp starched look on a man's tie. Twice Eric was convinced they were trying to strangle him,but finally, with some arguing and a really awkward hug from behind, they managed it, and drug him to the closet door mirror to have a look.

Immediately Eric thought he ought to be on the cover of one of their marriage books, as he looked, save for his shorter-than-stylish hair, the Carrier ideal. He was one of the shortest men in the room, his shoulders narrower than most of them too, face still unmistakably male but softer than he'd looked since he was about 15. The right clothes, the right makeup, the right body, he looked so unlike the grass-stained, toned, gangly boy he'd been just one year ago, starting his senior year of high school.

Before he could open his mouth to try and eek out a thank you for everyone's work, Zion stuck his head into the room.

"Eric? They sent me from up front. Your family's here."

Fuck. Within seconds that burning sensation in the back of his eyes returned, and Dove swore, tipping Eric's head back.

"You ruin your makeup and you'll stand at the altar with handprints on your face," He promised, handing him a tissue.

Eric struggled to get a hold of his breath.

"I cant...I can't let my dad see me like this!" He cried, and Owen clicked his tongue from the bed.

"Why not? You look beautiful."

"That's the problem," Eric fretted,running his hand down the hem of his coat. "I don't want to look...I mean, I do, but I don't want him-!"

"Eric, breathing, it's important." Dove tucked a few loose bits of hair behind Eric's ear, then down to hold his shoulder. "You're ok, honey, your dad is gonna think you look great, I'm sure he's so pro-"

"I don't want him to see me looking like a traitor!" And that, truly, was the problem here. He looked like a Carrier, that perfect ambiguity between what Eric knew and what he'd never known, the kind of man who would be a perfect compliment to a Major General. And he was ok with that, at least he was starting to, getting to make peace with his body and with his soon to be husband, but facing his dad like this, seemed almost a sin.

Dove wouldn't hear of it, and he took Eric by his shoulders and turned him back around to the mirror.

"Eric, look," He said, and waited until Eric obeyed. "This is your wedding day, alright? And what have we always told you? Make your choices when you can. Now you can shuffle out into the hallway and face your dad like a traitor to your own gender, and be ashamed and make him worry, or you can go out there and make him proud that he raised a man who knows how to do what he can to survive."

God damn it, he just wanted to cry more, and he understood Owen on his own wedding day so much more clearly now. 

"I...ok, I can do that," he murmured, blinking quick to dispel the threat of tears.

"That's my boy," Dove said, and slipped an arm behind his back.

Mitchel and Daniel waited for Eric in the main classroom, standing around, awkwardly looking over posters and artwork; both had cleaned up for the occasion, as much as blue collar men ever did in Nebraska; Sunday jeans, nicest shirt, the only suit jackets they owned. Dad had shaved, and must have spent an hour scrubbing all the oil and grease and soot from beneath his nails and the cracks in his hands. He looked handsome and too terribly young to be seeing his child married off.

"Hey- Eric...hey, sweetheart, look at you," his dad said as a greeting, long legs quickly striding over to close the space between them. Holding his arms, he swayed back, then had Eric turn once for him, the split skirt of his jacket fluttering. Shy, he smoothed the cloth down, unsure what to do with his hands till his dad took hold of his face to kiss his cheek. "You look so handsome, baby boy."

That fucking /burning/.

"Th...thanks dad," he whispered, leaning in when his dad brought him forward to hug. "D'you...d'you think its….that is ok? Like, is it me?"

"...it's perfect, honey. I'm so proud of you."

Ok, Dove could just yell at him, then, because there wasn't a thing Eric could do to stop the tears at that point.

)))(((

The classroom turned out to be s pseudo bridal suite for the rest of the morning, with almost all the carriers milling in and out, even the new one's who barely knew Eric, because a wedding was exciting and something to do and they, too, wanted a peek into their future. The bride, for the most part, passed his morning curled up next to his brother, watching highlights from a recent game from their favorite team, or telling Dad all the most humiliating stories about his friends. By now he had long grown use to the guards, but he could tell dad and Daniel weren't use to being seen as potential threats. He just wanted to distract them as much as he wanted to be distracted.

At 10:32, he was told Kharis was there, and as much as he wanted to see him, Dove and Owen seemed to be way too invested in antiquated, heteronormative wedding traditions and swore it was bad luck.

"Besides," added a very hormonal Owen, his pale honey hair brushing over dreamy eyes, "you don't wanna miss the look on his face when he first sees you, right?"

Eric, who couldn't care less about superstition, just shrugged, but he didn't have the will to fight it.

10:45, he was pacing, picking at his nails, being scolded for picking at his nails, and stress eating a lot of cheese and crackers 

10:54, and Austin, their temp dorm leader, was sticking his head in to usher everyone to sit down, save for Eric and his father. And the guard watching his father. They stood in the hall just a little down from the door, Eric feeling like his heart was going to break his ribs.

"Dad? Listen, you can...this is dumb, I'm not your daughter, you don't have to walk with me, just got sit-"

"Eric honey you look ready to start breathing," said his dad softly, grabbing his arms. "Come on, take a deep breath ok? In, and out….that's good, do another? In...see? A little better?"

"I'm gonna puke."

Mitchel shook his head, and ran his fingners gently down Eric's face. "No you're not, son, you're gonna be ok. You're gonna walk up there with me, you're gonna make a deal with a...very nice gentleman, and you're gonna be strong ok?...no, please don't cry, your vampire friend will kill me if he thinks I made you cry!"

That got the briefest bit of a chuckle from Eric, who wiped quickly at his eyes. 

"Dad, are you...are you ok with this? With the wedding, with Kharis, with...with me?"

Mitchel sighed deep, peering at his youngest son with growing concern. "Eric, baby, what do you even mean?"

"I mean-!" Eric struggled for his words, hearing Amber inside doing scales on his flute to warm up. "I mean...when...when I got here, that first day? And they wanted me to call you? All I could think was that when you left for work that day you had two sons, and when you got back you'd have 1 son and 1 Carrier-"

"Eric, youre always going to be my son, Carrier or not-"

"And I just can't help but worry that you're...you're disappointed in me!" He rushed on, seeing Austin poking his head into the dining room to check on progress. "That you wished I hadn't changed or that I hadn't turned myself in...I just don't want you to worry…"

"Eric, what did I tell you about the breathing and the friend who would kill me? ...honey, I'm your dad. I'm always gonna worry about you, no matter how you're put together." When Eric remained unmoved, Mitchel made an odd, panicked noise in the back of his throat and brought his son to his chest. "Honey...when...when everything was happening, and you were born, and I first saw you in the hospital? You were so little they thought you were going to die. They...they thought they'd just have to bury you with your mother, and I was 18 and terrified and already had a one year old on my lap I never intended to take care of, and I looked at you in that incubator waiting for you to die and Christ, Eric, you just held on, fucking 3 months premature but you kept going, and you're gonna keep going, ok? If that means as a Carrier, as a mother, so be it, because you were made for stronger shit than to just cry and cop out now ok? I never wanted to be a dad at 18, but holding Daniel, and seeing you, it's all I could think about, and still do."

Eric wasn't holding his shit together well, not at all, and he had to pull away from his dad's hold to more or less stomp about in a circle, fanning his face, trying to quiet down the riot in his head.

"Eric? Sweetie, it's time. "

Holy FUCK. 

Mitchel nodded, pulling a tissue from his pocket, stilling his son and dabbing his eyes.

"Ok, baby, you heard him, it's time to do this ok? ...I'm not going to make you, you know that, but if this is what you feel you have to do, what you want to do-"

Eric grabbed his dad's hand, tight, and drug him to the door, taking a moment to smooth his coat and fluff his tie, take his father's elbow, before turning to Austin.

"Open the damn door before I make a run for Kansas."

He did so, despite the aggravated look he gave the younger Carrier, and somehow Eric felt his feet shuffling him along, tugged down the aisle by his dad and by some half there instinct to just move. Same as Dove and Owen's weddings, about 2 dozen chairs were set up, forming a makeshift aisle down the middle. Frantic, Eric swept his eyes around the seating; there was Taylor, his toned-down pastels replacing his neon to not upstage the bride, waving at him with Kaylin swaddled in his lap. Jamal and Daisuke, plus baby, sat in front of him, and he thought he offered them a nervous smile but he might have just clenched his teeth and grimaced. There was Jameson, back corner, looking like he'd rather be just about anywhere else and Eric couldn't agree more. Daniel sat front row, next to Dove and Kyle; Dove grinned as broad as he could, offering a cheesy thumbs up, which drew from Eric a sound that could have been laughter-

And then they stopped. Or, Mitchel did; Eric's feet kept going another step, while still holding on to his father, causing him to stumble a bit before shuffling back to his spot. The noises behind him were definitely laughter. Blushing, he trained his face forward to avoid their stares, and that's when he finally saw Kharis and Christ almighty he looked painfully handsome. Complete formal uniform, medals polished, cording and stitching all in place, hair bound into his sleek bun beneath his cap. He smiled soothingly at his bride, eyes alight, and when the judge dismissed Mitchel to sit down, Eric squeezed his father's hand for a heartbeat before it was placed in Kharis's.

"You look stunning," he mouthed, running his thumbs over Erics hands, and he let out another horrifically nervous laugh, far too high and far too shrill. Again the laughter bubbled up from the crowd, and itbqas only the authorarive voice of the judge that saved him. He began his spiel, the same Eric had hears at two weddings so far. Thanking the guests who have come to witness the joining of two, a pair of diligent, honest, patriotic souls willing to serve the betterment of their community and the Union with a union of their own. He implored them both towards service, fidelity, perseverance, generosity and steadfast loyalty. Each word seemed to brush by Eric, barely absorbing them. Already he had learned the gist of it; a modern Union marriage between a man and his Carrier was a contract, an agreement to play the game. Check, got it, heard it all before, god he was pretty sure he was sweating through his shirt, ew, and he kinda had to pee-

"Do you, Kharis Leonard Page," he pressed on, and Eric jolted a little, surprised that already they were to vows. Of course, his friends ceremonies had lasted under 10 minutes each, and he had zeeero concept of time right now. "Take Eric Aster McDaugh today as your bride, shouldering for yourself the responsibility for his safety, health and protection?"

"I do," Kharis said with firm assurance.

"Do you vow yourself to your marriage and your partner, guiding you both towards a life of dedication and service towards family and country?"

"I do."

Next, he turned towards Eric, book in hand, reading from the opposite page, and Eric felt his stomach knot up so bad he had the horrible image of not being able to return Daisuke's suit on account of vomit.

"And do you, Eric Aster McDaugh, take Kharis Leonard Page today as your husband, taking upon yourself the mantle of wife, helpmeet and mother?" 

Each of those words ran through Eric, and he breathed deep, bracing himself against their chill. Wife, mother, those two at least, were not bad words, and he trusted Kharis to not make a shackle of their wedding rings. He had to trust him..

"I…I do…"

Kharis squeezed his hands.

"And do you vow yourself to your marriage and your partner, devoting yourself and the gift of your change to guiding your children towards the strength of the Union, and uplifting your family towards a better life?"

What the fuck did that even mean, all that was just a word salad, none of those sounds really making sense. Submit, shut up, have kids, that's all it really meant right ? Sure, sure, same shit different day, he knew this…

He swallowed, tryring to calm his belly, and looked wildly around the room, seeing faces but taking in none. Another squeeze to his hand brought him back to Kharis, and he stared at the general with wide, startled eyes. Two words, and this man owned him. Two words and Eric was bound into marriage. Just two words, and then he'd be Eric Page, Carrier, wife, future mother, and who knows what else. And that was absolutely terrifying to think about, but looking upwards at the man in front of him, he almost felt like he could do it. If it was with Kharis, the Kharis he knew, then…

"...I do."

Ok, it didn't have the same assured and calm authority that Kharis's did, but it would do. Good enough for now. 

They traded rings, plain silver bands, no fuss, no diamond for Eric, and all he could think was how smooth and cool it felt against his skin.

"By authority of the Union and the state of Nebraska, I present as man and wife General and Mrs. Kharis Page. You may kiss your bride. "

Heart hammering, Eric turned his face up, then stood on his toes to try and close the height difference between them. Kharis's hand was warm as it raised to cup his cheek, stilling him for a soft, quick kiss as the room broke into applause. The judge closed his book and stepped aside, and Eric honestly had no idea what he was suppose to do now, who he was suppose to talk to. It was so easy, it was so fast, and now the man drawing him into a tight bear hug was his husband, his actual, legal husband. 

"..Eric, baby, please breathe," Kharis whispered close to his ear, and Eric took as deep a breath as he could, only realizing as he shuddered that he was crying again.

"Sad, scared, or just overwhelmed?" He asked, and Eric just nodded, holding him tightly back. "Ok, darling, I know, this is so, so much for you, but I've got you now, you understand me, love? I've got a hold of you, you're gonna be ok."

Eric sniffled, not wanting everyone to see him looking like a 6 year old sobbing on his wedding day, and for a while, for at least the recepttion, he decided to put away his what ifs and doubts, and let himself see what it would be like to believe what Kharis said. So when his friends and family started to clammer towards him, wanting to give their congratulations, Eric turned towards them, tears still on his cheeks but a smile on his face. Happy crying, which was half true.

"Eric you fucking idiot did you really nearly trip over your own feet at the altar?"

"Sweetheart you look so handsome, I'm so proud of you."

"Eric! Oh sweetie, I've been talking to Kim nonstop about you all week, I'm so happy for you, you two look adorable together!"

"Welcome to the family, Mrs. Page. Hm. That's going to be confusing. You can be Mrs. Page the Second, I get seniority-"

"Daisuke…"

"Im /kidding./ Mostly."

)))(((

Eric made good on his promise to Tomas, and ordered s chocolate cake, one of the few things about his wedding he could actually customize and control. And it was fucking delicious, with a fudge frosting and dark chocolate shavings. They rarely got anything so indulgent and sugar-laden, at least not without sneaking it in from dads or boyfriends, so even the food finicky boys helped themselves. Eric savored his slowly, sat right between his new husband and his dad, who had been exchanging the oddest looks all afternoon. Honestly Eric thought Kharis seemed almost afraid of his dad, which seemed far too cliche for someone as no nonsense as General Page. Maybe it was just a healthy dose of respect with an extra bit of nerves. Made sense, since he just married Mitchel's baby.

Also at their table, of course, were Daniel, Dove, Owen, Daisuke and their husbands, and Eric had to marvel at his ready-made social circle. Owen seemed to get along swimmingly with Daisuke, half due to a shared love for a particular soap opera and half because Owen was 120% baby crazy right now and was determined to not give Jun back to his mother yet. Kyle, Dove and Mitchel were all deep in a conversation about scrapers and oil wells which Eric found dreadfully dull but adorable at the same time, and Kharis couldn't seem to keep his hands off Eric.

He was a gentleman about it; not a single other person in the room would know that his right hand was climbing up Eric's thigh beneath his coat tails, all the more for how Eric resisted the urge to stab said hand with his fork.

"My dad is literally /right there,/" Eric scolded his husband in the harshest whisper he could summon, and Kharis only gave a demure smile, but kept his hands to himself. At least for a moment.

Eric, being the bride and figuring today he should have whatever he /damned well/ pleased, excused himself to get another slice of cake, and maybe punch, and immediately wished he could rewind his ass to his chair.

"There's our newest blushing bride."

"...afternoon, Captain Jameson," Eric said in a flat tone, focusing his attention down to his plate.

"Afternoon, Carrier Page, " he smiled, leaning on the folding table set up for food. Eric hoped he dragged his mess dress through cake frosting. "Congratulations, I'm sure the two of you will be very happy."

"Ecstatic. Can I get by, please?"

"Please what?"

Fuck this. "Please /move./

Oh, bad idea, abort! Jameson's look turned bitter, his eyes narrowing while his stance grew tall.

"Carrier Page, belonging to one man does not give you a pass to show disrespect to other men, such behavior is unbecoming of a general's wife."

Oh Jesus Christ Jameson loved to hear himself talk. Eric rolled his eyes, knowing that no matter how pissed Jameson got at his attitude, he couldn't touch him. Raping a Carrier might not be a felony, but publically beating another man's wife was poor social etiquette at the least!

"Sorry, Sir, can I please just get some cake at my own wedding?"

Jameson didn't stop him, but also didn't move, making Eric have to sidestep around him to cut himself a slice. And, behind him, he felt Captain Jameson get...get just a little too close, bend a little further than he ought, and lower his voice.

"I'd watch your tongue, Carrier Page. You don't want to ruin your war hero's nice shiny reputation would you?"

"...war hero-?"

"And even if you're moved out into a nice new house and never look back, you can always remember, you're one of my favorites, little Mrs. Page."

"...back off or I'll get Kharis. "

Rather than serve as a deterrent, Jameson chuckled, seemingly entertained.

"Didn't take long did it? Our little independent Carrier already running off for a man's protection."

"It's not stupid to plan a good out, Sir. Isn't my husband technically your boss now?"

Ah, there it was, the briefest chip falling from Jameson's overconfident mask, and Eric reveld in this smallest of wins, however brief.

"Hm. Maybe, but don't you think that his power is absolute. He starts firing men left and right, his higher ups are gonna get involved. And you don't want to get him in trouble do you?"

Eric, holding the cake cutter in his hand, briefly indulged in the notion of jamming it into Jameson's throat, but before he could get too deep into that fantasy, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

"Took you so long, my love, I thought maybe you'd gotten lost on your way to get more cake - ah, Captain, good to see you. Thank you for helping to arrange such a lovely wedding for my bride."

Eric didn't think he would ever get sick of seeing Jameson jump into salute for Eric's new husband 

"Of course, General, I take pride in my work, and there's few bigger events in a Carriers life than their wedding day, after all."

Kharis nodded silently, quietly pulling Eric closer to him.

"Indeed...you do quite a job running Stillwater, Captain, I'm sure you'll be excited to hear about some of our ideas we want to implement in the new year."

"...sir?"

Kharis waved his own words away dismissively, as though he misspoke.

"Oh, just some thoughts. We have already discussed the overcrowding in Omaha, of course, at Mrs. Demuirs wedding? I'll bring it all up at our first quarter report in January, or maybe before. After all, with all of Eric's little friends here for him to visit, you and I are going to be seeing a /lot/ more of each other, isn't that grand, Captain?"

Behind Jameson, Zion, Tomas and Cedric all looked about to lose their shit trying to suppress their laughter, and that was without seeing the five stages of grief passing the captain's face. 

"In..indeed, General. I look forward to it. Ah, if you'll excuse me?"

Eric had never seen an officer salute and turn heel faster.

"...nobody here likes him," Eric said, earning him the title of Mrs. Obvious. His husband nodded, rubbing his back gently. "And...you meant it? We're gonna be around a little bit?"

"Of course, Eric. This is one of the few places you can socialize with other men like you, I'm not going to take that from you. Besides," He added softly, with a conspiratorial grin on his face, "we have a few new ideas we need to charm wealthy old bastards into funding, don't we, Mrs. Page?"

"...I think I can get use to hearing that name, you know, as long as you keep saying it like that, General."


	32. Lovers Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was suppose to have more into the honeymoon than this but it started getting long as hell so we just gonna go with the wedding night hm?

Eric and Kharis left the CEC at 2pm, arrived home at 2:09, stripped from their wedding attire, showered away a long day, and both promptly passed the fuck out by 2:51, sleeping away the majority of their afternoon. When Eric woke, the sun was a fiery orange riot behind the curtains, and he was far too warm, but couldn't bring himself to care. He was so sleepy, and curled so tight and safe against his husbands chest, head tucked beneath his chin. This, Eric thought before passing back out, was not the worst way to wake up.

By 7pm, the were both awake, nap-groggy and absolutely starving, and from his place sitting up in bed, Eric watched hid new husband putter around the room shirtless, typing out a dinner order on his phone. They were leaving the following afternoon for a plane to South Carolina, and thus the fridge had been thoroughly cleared of anything resembling a meal. Still rubbing the sleep crust from his eyea, Eric padded over to the duffle bags and boxes piled into the corner of the bedroom to dig for a shirt, still feeling shy walking around bare chested. Fucking CEC. They would start getting everything packed up and moved to their new house when they got back from their honeymoon.

Soon, the newlyweds had a most romantic supper of Thai food, eaten straight from the takeout containers because neither wanted to do dishes.

"Well aren't I proving to be quite the adequate provider?" Kharis teased with a self deprecating sigh, indicating their wedding night meal. Eric, busy getting the corkscrew into a bottle of champagne, just rolled his eyes.

"Oh dear, help, I'm being starved, this monster even sprang for the fancy family owned restaurant instead of a chain, how ever shall I survive?"

Kharis seemed to appreciate his humor, chuckling to himself as he took another bite of noodles, very wisely keeping his mouth otherwise shut as Eric waged war against the cork. Fucker was stuck in good, and Eric didn't really have the arm strength he use to. Thanks there, estrogen. He nearly punched himself in the damn face, holding the bottle between his thighs as he tugged with both hands, but he emerged victorious, if a little sticky, and allowed his husband to pour glasses as he went to rinse his hands.

"Impressive, darling," Kharis praiaed, only a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Eric let it slide, nodding very self satisfied as he accepted his glass. Champagne he liked better than wine, and he was eager for a sip, but stopped before he raised his glass to his lips.

"You know, our wedding was nice, but those vows were-"

"Ann assault on both self determinatioj, romance, and poetic license?"

"...well I was just gonna say a joke, but yeah that about covers it. You sound like my 9th grade vocabulary tests sometimes you know that?"

Rather than make a remark on his own schooling and make their age difference awkward, Kharis just shrugged, and looped his arm behind his wife's shoulders to bring him close."

"Well, if we find our vows so tactless and lacking, we could always make our own."

Eric peered up at Kharis quizzically, silently urging him on.

"I mean...like this, perhaps, that rather than vowing to guide you to be a good domestic god for the union, I instead vow...to keep a home for you where you can be free, safe, and able to speak as you wish."

Eric blushed furiously, but clicked his glass to Kharis's, toasting to it.

"This is so cheesey," he sighed, twirling the glass in his hand. "Ok um...I...I vow to try my best to be a good companion for you, an actual, loving wife, not just a placeholder?" He was not quite as eloquent as the general, but Kharis didn't seem to judge, and they tipped their glasses again. 

"I vow...to not abuse the power I socially hold above you," Kharis said softly, stroking Eric's arm. "And to do nothing to lose your trust."

"Ok….ok, yeah," Eric said, still blushing. "Um...I vow to...to work to better myself, to be someone you can be proud of."

"Im already proud of you, baby," Kharis assured him sodrly, kissing the top of his hair. "You have a constitution and bravery any man ought ro envy." Still, they tipped glasses to it.

"I vow to be a supportive father to our children, and to be there for you when you become a mother, to never let you feel alone."

*tink*

"I vow to be...to learn to be a good mom, and to love our kids the best I can, I hope…"

*tink*

"And I think if we get any more mushy were gonna need another bottle of champagne!" Kharis finally finished up, and Eric laughed softly, snuggling down in agreement and slowly sipping his glass. Outside night had finally fallen, and he could hear the crickets starting to sing. Cool air blew in through the windows, sweet from fresh cut grass, but Eric was warm against his husbands chest.

"...Kharis?"

"Yeah baby?"

"...I vow to learn to trust you,"

Eric whispered this to the half light of the living room, to the dark corners and the dust covered shelves, the books and the paintings and magazines tossed on the coffee table, but the one who needed to hear it picked up on it all the same, and again kissed the top of his head, smelling the shampoo and perfume Dovine had been so liberal with. 

"I'm afraid I'm out of champagne," Kharis teased, swirling around just a drip in the bottom of his glass. Emboldened, flush faced still, and breath short, Eric twisted in Kharis's embrace, touch draping over his husbands thighs. Behind Kharis on the couch lay parts of his uniform, hat and bowtie and starched collar he had been too exhausted to put away properly. Hoping a burst of playfulness would cover up his anxiety, Eric reached around his husband, grabbed his stiff, brimmed hat, and placed it atop his own head, where it sagged down over his ears.

"What, a Major General in the Unions army can't think of any other way to tell me you love me?"

If the look on Kharis's face was an indication, Eric knew he was on his way to getting exactly what he wanted. Kharis grinned, eyes narrowing as he pressed his fingertips up beneath the brim to see Eric's eyes.

"Bit big on a little guy like you isn't It?" He tsked, Eric melting at his soft laughter. "Don't you think you'd be better suited to a cadet's beret?"

Eric pouted, pretending to be contemplative, but shook his head all the same, his stolen cap going askew over one eye.

"No, this suits me fine, don't you think, Kharis?"

Without pause, Kharis plucked his cap off Eric's head, ruffling his dirty blonde hair, tucking it primly back over his own loose curls.

"Don't think I ever met a cadet who thought he could be on first name basis with his CO."

Feeling unusually emboldened and feisty, Eric pressed his hands to Kharis's chest, swung one leg over his lap and arched his back to get as close against him as possible. 

"Sorry, but boys like me don't toss around "sir" to a man who doesn't earn it."

Oh dear god he immediately felt a pang of panic coursed through his chest, afraid his little bit of play had gone too far as Kharis jolted a bit, eyes wide. But then a slow, comfortable grin took his full lips, and he reached up to trace his fingers against Eric's throat.

"Oh? Boys like you, huh?" Kharis clicked his tongue. "What sort of boyis that huh? The uppity kind who like to run their mouths?"

Eric tried to think of something snappy to say back, but soon found Kharis's hand sneaking beneath his shirt, running over his belly and it tickled, dragging from him something humiliatingly close to a giggle. Kharis smiled, obviously enjoying their little game. 

"Or do you mean something else entirely, cadet McDaugh? You wouldn't be keeping something from me would you?"

Here Kharis's hands reached up higher, towards his chest, and though he had nothing to hide, Eric was no stranger to the games lovers played, even if he didn't have the experience his partner did. So he gasped, grabbed Khariss wandering hand and tried to press it away.

"Don't fucking touch me," he snapped back, hoping his nerves didn't make him stumble his words and break the illusion. Kharis curled an arm behind his bride pressing at the small of his back to arch him closer.

"Take that tone with me, brat?" He asked, and Eric could see his black eyes scanning Eric's face at even that small an insult, to be sure Eric was still invested. 

Oh, indeed, he was, and as he pressed both palms to Kharis's chest to try and squirm away, he couldn't help but think of Daisuke's advice to test him, to fight him. Well, this is probably not what his brother in law had in mind, but Eric was sure hed approve this all the same.

"Old fucking pervert," he snarled, putting up a modest struggle, seeing how strong a grip Kharis would hold. Firm, it seemed, because true, he wasn't really trying to escape, but he doubted he could unless he called off this game. "Touch me and I'll report you!"

"To who, soldier?" Kharis laughed, and with honest pride shining through his playacting he reminded Eric, "there's not a man present on this base who outranks me."

Christ why did that turn him on? When did he become a little slut for someone like this? Shit. Oh well, he was married to the fucker, might as well roll with it.

Kharis seemed to like the moment of hesitant silence Eric gave him, enough to return his touch to Eric's warm belly, tickling slightly.

"So now then, why don't you tell me why you're having such a fit-" and he slapped away Eric's hands as he reached for the waistband of his pants, "before I find out on my own?"

It was just playacting, lovers learning one another, but it still thrilled Eric, quickening his pulse, and he bit his bottom lip in a worried sulk, shaking his head in such a way for his still-long bangs to tumble near his eyes.

"Please...it's nothing, nothing to concern you-"

Kharis tsked again, and tugged on Eric's pajama bottoms.

"Anything that happens on this base and affects my men concerns me," he replied, Eric feeling that warm rush of validation he had every time someone continued to refer to him as a boy or a man. Beneath his touch, barely out of reach, Eric was growing noticeably hard, pulling the front of his pants taut. Kharis ran his fingers over the puckering fabric. "Last chance, Cadet, tell me why you miss drills and suddenly can't keep up with the other men?"

Eric couldn't think of anything to say, instead continuing to press forward, rolling his hips into his husbands touch as he casually brushed the swelling head of his cock, pulling his pants down just enough to see. Kharis gave an appreciative hum, circling around the slit gently with one finger, pressing against the foreskin. 

"No precum? Pity, would help slick you up."

"Im not even all the way hard yet!" He snapped, knowing it wouldn't make much difference even if he was.

"Yet, huh? You wanna get harder for me?" He asked,and took loose hold of Eric's cock, squeezing his hand just enough to draw out a shuddering breath from his young lover. Too dry to properly stroke him off, Kharis was content to just play with him, ghosting his fingers along his shaft and giving short, slow pulls near the head, encouraging each little whimper and gasp with another stroke, another nail dangerously close to his slit.

Thoroughly distracted, Eric didn't notice his other hand leave his back, slip down behind Eric and reach between his legs until suddenly he felt the too-thin fabric of his pajamas pressed tight against his cunt, and he groaned at the unexpected pressure and friction. Immediately he could tell he was dripping, his wetness soaking through the fabric to reach Kharis's fingers and god did he look self satisfied.

"Thought you could keep a secret like this from me?" He smirked, rubbing his warm fingers back and forth over his swelling lips. Eric just shuddered, biting his lip, and tried to press his legs together. All it accomplished, though, was to send a delightful pressure through his belly.

"Please ...please don't tell anyone," Eric whispered, clenching his hands against Kharis's shirt. "Please?"

"Hm. Now, you know you should have came to me immediately don't you, soldier?" He purred, continuing to work both his slit and his cock. "Its not safe for you now, not at all."

"Please don't tell," was all Eric could get out, biting harder on his lip as Kharis ran a first bead of precum over the head of his stiff cock.

His husband only sighed, shaking his head as though disappointed.

"I really should," he whispered in Eric's ear, "what you've done is unacceptable, McDaugh."

"Please," he groaned again, and for a moment he was lost, Kharis's hand gone from between his legs, but he merely dipped his hand back beneath Eric's now thoroughly drenched and wrinkled pajamas, running his finger directly against his pussy, pressing in just the tip.

"You beautiful, precious thing," Kharis breathed with reverence, kissing his cheek. "Maybe I won't tell. I'd rather just keep you for myself."

Eric nodded dumbly, pressing his hips back to let Kharis have easier access to his bride, aching for more touch.

"Whatever you want," Eric breathed, linking both arms around his husbands neck. "Don't tell anyone, and I'll do anything you want."

This time when Kharis withdrew his touch it was not immediately replaced. Or at least, not the way Eric expected. Instead, Eric suddenly found himself quite disoriented and dizzy as Kharis pulled him effortlessly over one shoulder, carrying him off to his- their- bedroom.

"Kharis! You can't just haul me around like this!" Eric protested, though it was hardly intimidating considering he could barely contain a peel of delighted laughter. He loved this and Kharis fucking knew it, grinning down hungrily as he let his bride fall to the bed, breath leaving him in a rough gasp.

"Off," he instructed roughly, delight shining in his eyes as he tugged insistently on Eric's pajama pants. Unsure whether they were still playing their lovers game, Eric was quick to start, exposing his flushed, hot cock without shame, but paused with the waistband pressing beneath it.

"Off, McDaugh," he instructed again and this time Eric obeyed, amid blushing and lip biting.

"Please don't tell," he begged again, knees pressed together and his pants at his ankles. Kharis's hands went immediately at his thighs, calluses rough against the warm, soft skin as he eased Eric's legs apart, leaving the Carrier feeling vulnerable, and not just the make believe kind. Kharis was still fully dressed, while he wore only a tank top pressed up his chest. Even besides that, there was something terrifying about being splayed open before a man, knowing what he wanted, and what his own changed body was for. It made his lungs hiccup and acid burn the back of his throat, and he struggled for a second to remind himself, this was Kharis. This was his husband, who loved him, not some asshole drunkard or clinical doctor or lowlife who wanted to hurt him. Just his husband, who swore to cherish him.

And indeed, that was always the look Kharis wore when he saw his partner laid out on the bed for him, hard, wet, open and wanting. Wordless, not taking his eyes off Eric, he pulled off his shirt, undid the fly on his own trousers and stepped out of them easy, boxers going next. Eric tipped his head up to see the show better, reaching between his legs where Kharis's teasing hands left him aching and sensitive. Watching his husband strip, he drew his fingers between his lower lips, his slickness audible in the quiet room, and quickly found that sensitive spot beneath his cock, and whined. Eric fucking knew Kharis loved this, watching Eric play with himself. He wondered if he'd want to watch him get himself off; Dove said he and Kyle did that, to find out what each others bodies liked, and that sounded like a fine idea-

"Oh, that's how it is, cadet? So careful to hide your secret but so eager to get off?"

-though this sort of game was accomplishing the same thing. Eric shivered, feeling almost guilty at how those rough words excited him. It seemed almost traitorous, to get off so easily in bed on what would offend him outside of it. But...but Eric had always liked this sort of play, with the couple guys he'd been with before, and in his own fantasies. He couldn't expect that to change so easily among with his anatomy, could he?

"...what else am I suppose to do, General? You have a pretty Carrier right in front of you but you're too busy preening to fuck me proper," Eric taunted scornfully, pressing two fingers easily into his wet cunt, squeezing himself around them, before drawing his fingers out to drag the wetness up his cock.

Kharis was obviously losing character and Eric couldn't help the little thrill that kind of power gave him, and he whimpered softly as he traced the head of his dick, skin taut and deep pink. Two fingers lather over it on wide, slow cirles, teasing himself worse than he was teasing Kharis. He was 18, damnit, and horny as fuck. He could easily cum from another minute of this, but he didn't want to finish that early. Good thing his husband agreed, and in a smooth motion he grabbed Eric's hands, pulled them away from his cock, and pressed them to the mattress above his head. Though strong and sure, Eric knew Kharis was holding back, way back. It was frightening, how easily Kharis could hurt him, and with a thrill Eric let himself be assured that he wouldn't dare.

Eager and tired of waiting, Kharis finally let himself have his bride, taking Eric's lips to his own in a seering, demanding kiss, forcing his lips open to find his tongue. Yearning for this just as much, Eric let him, biting playfully on Kharis's lip and earning him a tighter grip on his wrists in warning...hm. ok then. Kissing, and letting himself be kissed, Eric relaxed himself into the mattress, breathless and moaning, waiting for Kharis to relax his hold just the slightest bit before pulling hard as he could on his arms, trying to slide out from beneath him. As expected, the generals reflexes were deadly sharp, and he caught his would-be runaway without effort.

"Where do you think you're going?" He grinned, then leaned down to whisper in Eric's ear, "are you alright, love? Is this ok?"

His answer was a quick and enthusiastic one, nodding and tipping his head back to bare his throat. Kharis took the invitation, laying kisses down from his jaw to his collarbone, biting just hard enough that Eric knew he'd bruise. 

"No strapless dress tomorrow," Kharis pointed out, softly kissing the spot he'd just so thoroughly abused. "No good reason not to leave a mark hm?"

Eric groaned, his breath coming quicker. He could feel Kharis cock against his own thigh, hot, hard and waiting, and he wanted desperately to just drag himself down enough to get it in him, wanting filled and not caring how slutty that made him sound. Surely you couldn't be counted as a slut if it was one's own spouse??

As he bit playfully along Eric's throat, his free hand began to roam over Eric's body, slipping under his top to feel the heat of his heartbeat flushing his skin, then trailing down, making his belly quiver, to where Eric's cock strained hard against his stomach. And it wasn't as though Eric didn't savor the touch, seeking out just another drop of thin fluid, but his pussy was swollen too, clenching on nothing, and he was a tad upset that he hadn't gotten to touch Kharis at all yet. He was just...quite a fan of feeling his muscles move beneath his skin, especially his arms, even if Kharis seemed shy about Eric touching his scars. 

"Khariiis," he whined, pressing his shoulders to the mattress to force his hips upwards. "Please, stop teasing me!"

"Hm. But I love it," he murmured, leaning further up to capture his brides lips in another deep kiss, one Eric felt entirely through his body down to the heat between his thighs. "And you're the one who said you wanted to get to know one another's bodies. Maybe I ought to just lay you out for an afternoon, touch soft and slow, learn every little curve, all the places you're most sensitive-" and suddenly his roaming hand was at his slit, ghosting over his lips just teasing his fluttering opening.

"Kharis, please fuck me!" Eric groaned pitifully, just this side of a tantrum. "I know you're hard too so get a fucking condom and get it in me already!"

While Kharis seemed content to drag out their wedding night as long as possible, he also wasn't about to pass up this invitation, and he reluctantly tore himself away from his bride long enough to dig out a blue square from his bedside drawer, stroke himself (unecessarily, Eric thought, as he was so hard it looked almost painful) and got himself covered. His hand hadn't even left his dick yet before Eric was on him, using his limited weight and the element of surprise to pin Kharis down to the bed, still warm from Eric's own body.

"Eager little thing, my beautiful wife?" Kharis said with a pleased grin, but it quickly disappeared from his face as Eric clambered over Kharis's legs onto his lap, and slowly sat himself down on Khariss thick, hard cock. Each inch stretched him deliciously wide, and he was just long enough to fit in the back of his channel and still let him sit himself comfortable on Kharis's hips. Beneath him, his husband gasped at each little movement Eric made as he got comfortable, each squeeze Eric's pussy gave his cock.

"You always feel fucking amazing, my love," he sighed, his voice strained. Strong hands held his hips and he carefully pressed himself up, half reclining against the headboard and Eric clenched his eyes and cried out at the movement, pressing all the most delightful places inside of him. 

"My beautiful bride," Kharis growled, and now that he was sitting up, he was just about eye level with Eric, who took eager advantage of this fact. Leaning forward to be kissed again shifted everything inside of him, and he whimpered into Kharis's mouth past kiss-bitten lips.

Soon enough, though, Eric couldn't stand to be still any longer, and raised himself up just a bit, experimenting and testing his balance. It had been awhile since he'd been on top, last time being well over a year before with a guy closer to his own size and with a far different set of anatomy. Broad built as Kharis was, he felt a little unstable as he slid back down, and he was immediately grateful for the strong hands on his hip and ass.

"Steady now," Kharis told him with a throaty drag to his voice, supporting his bride as Eric raised himself up again, savoring the lewd sound of their bodies gliding against one another. This felt fucking wonderful, and powerful, and he took his sweetbtome at first, savoring the control he had, how he could press himself to feel all the good spots. Kharis seemed equally unhurried for the moment, letting his hands enjoy Eric's soft skin and firm muscle as he rode him.

However, both were needy, wanting, and done playing around, and soon Eric was working up somewhat stuttering rhythm, pulling nearly all the way off his cock before falling back upon it, feeling Kharis's grip tighten almost bruise hard, and honestly Eric loved that. It made it feel intense and intimate, the way he guided him and helped take his weight. 

Panting, mewling, Eric had little room for words, but neither needed to speak. Their hands on one another said what they needed, Eric's on Kharis's shoulders for leverage, nails biting in every time his cock tugged at his entrance, nearly slipping out, feeling so good but so fucking intense.

"Oh, god," he breathed, feeling a particularly pleasurable ripple through his belly, leaning forward in such a way that the base of his cock rubbed against Kharis's lower belly. At this, Kharis ran one arm further behind Eric, circling his hips, and brought his other forward, taking a firm hold of Eric's cock. And the poor Carrier knew immediately he wouldn't last much longer, not with Kharis giving short, quick strokes to his shaft.

Cumming with Kharis inside him felt amazing, having something so firm and warm for his cunt to hold tight only increased each wave, the first few strong enough to have him nearly double over as his stomach tightened. Distantly he was aware of Kharis continuing to fuck him through his orgasm, even as he himself stilled, letting out his own gasp a few moments later, shuttering and clinging to his bride. 

Panting, spent and satisfied, Eric leaned forward into Kharis's arms, sensitive but unwilling to move yet. 

"Fucking amazing," Kharis managed to get out, and Eric have a soft laugh.

"Your wife or the sex?"

"Yes."

"Fucking ...fucking sap of a general, what kind of commander could you be?" Eric taunted, feeling that lovely, floaty euphoria starting to set in. Kharis gave a shirt laugh, letting his hands play in Eric's sweat-dampened hair.

"Test me and you'll find out, cadet."


	33. Seaside

Salty sea air on high winds gusted Eric's face, and he smiled into the afternoon sunshine. South Carolina, from what little he'd seen, was his new favorite place, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the ocean. In its own way, it reminded him of back home, of the prairie sky, both flat and endless and so deeply blue. Beneath his feet was hot sand, giving way under his weight to cool dampness beneath and he wanted to bury himself up to his knees in it.

"Kharis it's fucking beautiful here," he said astutely to the husband by his side, and Kharis beamed, seemingly delighted his new wife approved his pick for a honeymoon.

"I knew you would love it, baby, but perhaps out here we ought to try and mind our tongues a bit?" He suggested kindly, and Eric looked closer around the beach, and blushed slightly. This little town, Kharis had told him, was very popular for young families, and young families invariably meant Carriers with very small children. Indeed, it seemed just about everyone enjoying the sunshine and the water was in a pair, or had little ones toddling about with them. Eric had the suspicion that this was why Kharis had chosen this specific city and this specific stretch of beach for them to stay, but he didn't mind. Honestly it soothed his nerves, and he felt safer among other couples, other Carriers, and Kharis must have felt the same because while he still warned Eric to stay close, within sight, he didn't make Eric hold on to him like he had to in the city. 

Kharis set them up a little camp, large towels, a place for cold drinks, an umbrella for shade against the glaring sun, even after he had all but made Eric bathe in sunscreen, and Eric settled himself down on an orange striped towel that reminded him of a creamsicle, sipping a bottle of ice tea, and people-watched. The closest people were about 30 feet away, a Carrier who'd rigged up an ingenious little barrier for his crawling son with a fitted sheet and gallon jugs filled with sand keeping it weighed down, sides up to keep the sand away from delicate skin. Mom gave a polite wave when he caught Eric staring, and Eric gave a half wave back, embarrassed, but also filing the idea away for future reference. At the shoreline, a couple each held the hand of a toddler in water wings, letting him stamp his feet in the wet, sloshy sand, and a little further down a man tried enticing his wife into the water, despite his protests of the cold.

"...I like it here," he told his husband, twirling his wedding band around on his finger. 

"As do I love, it was nice spending some time here, when I got back from Asia. This is where I came home to, this coast, and I just knew you'd love the shore."

He did, he was already in love with the place, and eagerly wove his way down to the water with Kharis at his side, holding on to him because he wanted to, not because he had to. Beneath his feet the sand grew dark from the lowering tide, and rockier, smooth pebbles and bits of shell mingling in, and he stopped as they neared where the water began to lap in.

"D'ya think it's cold?" He asked his husband.

"Well it is if you ask him," Kharis responded dryly, pointing out the reluctant Carrier from before squealing as his husband scooped him into his arms and teasingly threatened to dump him in.

"...do that and we don't have sex the rest of the trip," he promised, and Kharis, thoroughly threatened, swore he wouldn't. Still, Eric had shown up wearing swim trunks and was ready to at least try this wading with ocean life thing. Plenty of people were enjoying a swim, so it couldn't be that bad! It was hot as hell out, after all...which reminded him-

"Am I allowed to take my shirt off?"

Kharis, himself obviously content to not show his burn scars and thus keeping his own shirt on, hesitated as he glanced around the beach.

"...you may, if you're comfortable with it. You'd be the minority but not the only one. Just mind that people may stare, stupid as that is."

Eric nodded, though made no move to undress yet. He just wanted to know if he had the option, not so much seeking his husbands permission as he was information on whether public decency laws had gone that far backwards yet. For now he was content just knowing he had an option.

Slowly the pair made their way down the beach, Eric leading them closer to the gently lapping water, tantalizingly sparkling in the sunlight. He'd watched it from their bedroom the night before, in the moonlight, as the newlyweds unpacked and collapsed together after a long flight. He'd always wanted to see the ocean- few places were as landlocked as the American grasslands- and he wanted to savor every moment now that he was here. Sure, his daydreams had never included a marriage such as this that brought him here, but that didn't change the beauty of the shoreline. In fact it kinda made it nice. A new place gave the pair plenty to talk about, which set Eric's frazzled nerves at ease. This was the most consecutive time he'd ever spent with his husband, and while it was nice to have that freedom now, every long pause or awkward silence felt tinted with dread, a reminder that he married a man he'd known for 10 weeks.

But Kharis was confident where Eric was apprehensive, or at least able to fake it for his bride, because he seemed to know how to ease Eric into small talk, or attract his attention. He told him about the shell pieces they found in the sand, the types of sea creatures they'd housed and the types that had eaten them.

"There's so much living here!" Eric said with awe, watching tiny baby snails in a tide pool, the shallow aswim with life.

"Mmhm. The Puget Sound, up near Seattle? It has all sorts of sea life, anemones and crabs and sea stars, and these snails the size of your head. My family use to vacation there when I was very young and Rene, one of my sisters? She knew everything there was to know about marine life. She use to chase our little sister Magdalena around with crab shells!"

As a younger sibling, Eric could sympathize with the poor girl, and shuddered.

"Daniel would do the same with toads when I was little. He told me if I touched one it would give me warts, and they'd spread till I was coated in them and then I'd never get a boyfriend."

"Did it not occur to you to wonder why Daniel could touch them and be fine?' Kharis wanted to know.

"I was, like, 7," he defended his own honor, seeing as his husband wasn't about to.

"Fair. When I was 7 and Jamal was 16, he told me that if my hand was bigger than my face it meant I had a terrible disease and would die in a week."

Eric snickered. "Daniel did that to me too, you hold your hand up to your face and then he slaps your hand to make you hit yourself?"

"Indeed, but I didn't catch the joke and spent the next week convinced I was about to drop dead. H  
Gave away all my best toys and then had to go around begging for them back when I was still alive come Sunday."

Eric let out a low whistle and shook his head pitifully.

"And I'm going to have your babies?"

"Don't start, Page," he warned, but his tone was light and full of laughter. Slowly, as they walked, Eric drew closer, despite his relatively large radius around which he could explore, and slipped his hand into Kharis's, almost shy. They were married, but this still felt, somehow, like begging for attention, even if Kharis would readily give it.

A small token, an almost unseen gesture to most, but Kharis saw it for what it was, his new bride choosing touch and closeness and him.

"...I love you, Eric."

"Love you too, 'Ris."

)))(((

Eric had not gone into his marriage expecting anything terribly romantic, especially not at first. Theirs, like most Carrier marriages, was one borne out of necessity, duty, and no small amount of threat. So it was always with a small bit of warmth and delight that he accepted the small ways Kharis knew to show Eric affection. He was not a man for grand shows of flowers or expensive champagne, which was fine by Eric, not being a fan of such dramatic schlock. What he enjoyed was the way Kharis's hand tightened around his when they walked about town and he knew Eric was growing nervous. He enjoyed his husbands fingers stroking through his hair, the way he actually seemed to be listening when Eric spoke instead of just nodding along to placate a chatty Carrier. Little things, remembering what he liked to eat, the way he was eager to hold Eric at night...that wasn't to say he didn't appreciate an upscale dinner, though, or the rose oil in a shared bath, the I love you's that poured so readily from his lips during sex, even moreso after. Being with Kharis, more and more each day, was becoming comfortable.

"It's still so warm out, even though it's dark," he sighed into the light sea breeze on their rooms balcony as Kharis slipped in behind him, arms wrapping loose around his waist. "We should come back here again, for our anniversary?"

"We still have 4 days left, my love, enjoy this trip before we plan another," Kharis advised, but he could hear the smile in his voice. "But of course we can. It's a nice place, I feel safe with you here, there's plenty of families."

"...we could bring our kids, in a couple years. Everyone else seems to, it'd be fun to take them to the beach."

Kharis laid a soft kiss to the back of Eric's neck, a reward for talking about difficult things without crying or having a fit.

"It would be, darling, I'd love to bring our sons someday."

Eric nodded silently, watching the starlight on the water. The smell of the ocean mingled with the generals cologne, which Eric had taken to stealing a shake of each morning. It was a nice smell, one he felt went nicely on his own skin, far better than the floral perfumes sold to men like him. Hm. Dragging his eyes from the waves, he looked at the stragglers along the beach, almost all childless couples now, maybe newlyweds like them, enjoying time alone before their families grew. A half dozen or so pairs, some Carriers taller than their husbands, some shorter, some with broad shoulders, trying to make up for this make-up flaw with wide skirts and long hair. Carrier ideal, he heard in his head again, and he looked down to the strong, toned arms holding him, his own slender arms overtop. Below, he wore a linen dress, a gift from Kharis bought for him that afternoon at a fancy shop. Eric could wear whatever liked at home or visiting friends or his family, but he was a general's wife now, and needed public clothes for such a public position, and Kharis insisted they could find far nicer things here than Nebraska. So Eric brought back bags of silk blouses and long cut jackets, and several of these odd wrap-around skirts becoming so popular with Carriers nowadays. Cologne on his neck and florals across his body, Eric sighed, feeling the curve of his husband's chest behind him. 

"Troubled mind, my love?"

Eric, pressed safe between the railing and his husband, turned as much as he could, Kharis backing away a bit to allow him room. Quiet and contemplative, the Carrier surveyed the man before him, raising his small hand up towards Kharis's wide chest, measuring their heights against one another.

"...I really don't look anything like you, do I?" He asked quietly, feeling this very unbecoming sting to his eyes.

Kharis peered down at his bride, obviously seeing how quickly upset he was growing without knowing why.

"Eric...course we don't look alike. I'm neither your age nor your race nor your sex-"

"But I use to be that last one, and not so long ago, " Eric pointed out, his free hand reaching up to feel his own collar bones, the slight hint of an Adams apple, then higher to a once sharp jaw softened by the redistribution of fat padding his face.

"...yes, darling, but you're a Carrier now, and you look different than you did." Shushed tones, meant to sooth, and Eric bit his lip in shame for worrying him, for bringing this up again.

"It just...sometimes it hits hard, when I don't want it to. That I'm not like you-" he fanned his palm over the muscle of Kharis"s chest, higher, to the stubble along the top of his throat, then to his own smooth cheek. "I'm not like I was suppose to be now."

"Hey...baby, no," Kharis said, taking Eric's hand away from the blondes cheek, keeping him from checking himself. "You're exactly how you're supposed to be, ok? You're a Carrier now, but you lived your whole life happily as a boy, and that's what you are, then, whether you can carry children or not...Eric, my love, we all have to learn to play this game, and the rules aren't kind to you, but it doesn't change who you are when it's just you, or when it's just us."

Pretty words which Eric struggled to hold onto, looking away down to the beach again.

"Why couldn't I change when I was older? At least then I'd be taller, my voice deeper-"

"And then you would have the worries that you weren't Carrier enough to please a husband, you'd fret about being judged for being too male."

"Isn't that what I am though?"

"Eric, honey, you're whatever you say you are." He squeezed his hand tighter before raiding it to his lips for a kiss. "Baby, you aren't built like I am, but there have always been men who are smaller, shorter, more feminine. Stop- stop looking down there, Eric. Stop looking at other Carriers, other couples. They aren't you, they aren't us, ok?"

When Eric still struggled to tear himself away from his melancholy, Kharis huffed, not unlike a disgruntled dog, and leaned down to pick his bride up round the waist. 

"-Kharis-!"

"You know, my love, if you were as large as I, I couldn't lift you like this," he pointed out, sitting Eric securely on the balcony railing, keeping his arms very firmly around him to keep him safe. "And I have it on good authority that you love it when I pick you up."

Eric narrowed his eyes, trying to make himself feel indignant.

"Oh come off it Page, that's just one thing!"

"It's one thing that makes you happy, isn't it?"

Eric was quiet, and looked away, feeling quite shy over his fuss. He wished he could see Dove right about now. Dove looked like a totally different person since his change. He'd understand in a way Kharis just couldn't..though Eric appreciated how he tried.

"Love you, Kharis."

"Love you too, Eric," he said, kissing his wife's cheek, knowing this issue was unresolved, and only on hold. That was fine for them both, and they let the sound of the ocean carry their words to other places. Such a relaxing sound, soothing to fall asleep to...

"...Kharis?"

"Hm?"

"When you were here, before, when you got back home from the war, what was this place like then?"

With no immediately reply, Eric feared he had broken their tentative sweet spell, or upset his husband with questions he ought not ask, but soon, Kharis sighed, stroking a hand over Erics hip.

"Still as beautiful as it is now. The ocean hasn't changed, it still comes and goes as it pleases, lovely and blue. But it was a terribly sad place then, my love."

"Then why did you want to come back?"

"Hm. Because Eric, after the war, everywhere was a sad place. Everything was quiet and empty and slow, but here on the beach, I could breathe again."

Eric nodded quietly, reaching down to lay a hand over Kharis's. He said so little of his time in service, and that suited Eric fine. Nobody he knew from that time wanted to talk about the war, but being here, on this shoreline and knowing what it meant to Kharis, the sands felt almost haunted.

"Is this a good place for you now?"

"Hm. Do you mean a good place for me, this town, or a good place for me mentally?"

"...both?" Asked a very clueless Eric, still learning this song and dance of marriage.

"...it's a good place for me, Eric. I have you here with me, and I couldn't have ever dreamed such a thing all those years ago when I got off the plane. God, you'd have only been 2 years old then, we were 11 years away from the Change...but here you are now, my new bride, everything I could never even think to ask for. I'm so damn lucky to have you, Er, and strike me down if I ever fuck this up."

A hitch to Kharis's voice sunk a rock into Eric's belly, and he quickly hopped down from his perch to stand back to chest with Kharis, tugging his arms around him to be held close, because he was very sure his husband might be near tears and the young Mrs. Page was absolutely not ready to see that again yet. Instead he just let Kharis hold him, marching their breath, and looked quietly towards the ocean.

It wasn't until 4 am, waking up for a drink, that Eric retread their words and something struck him. He had to wonder; if the war had ended the year Eric was born, but he had been 2 when Kharis stood on that shoreline, what kept him in China for those 2 years? Immediately awake, he surveyed the form of his sleeping husband in the near dark, a thousand possibilities running through his head at once, from a simple miscalculation to a long lost lover in Beijing. Being the impatient and demanding teenager that he was, Eric had the strong and immediate impulse to knock him awake and demand answers, but...but being the young Carrier and new bride he was, he fretted, stepping anxiously from foot to foot as he watched Kharis turn over in his sleep, brows knit together with a look of deep worry as his arm felt nothing but warm, empty bed where his bride should be. Quickly, before he could wake, Eric scampered back to bed, and let his snoozing husband take hold of him, feeling the tension leave Kharis's chest in a deep sigh.

He followed suite, letting go of a deeply heald breath, and reminded himself of the vow he made on his wedding night, the last one, the hardest to say and the hardest to keep. 

/I vow to learn to trust you./

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading and all your kind notes!


	34. Betty Fucking Crocker

"Kharis you are NOT carrying me."

"Come on, darling, it's just for fun."

"It's stupid."

"It's tradition."

"I spontaneously grew a uterus 8 months ago, Kharis, I'm not much for following the crowd."

"I'll carry you all the way to bed."

Eric paused in his argument, standing crossarmed on their new front porch as he weighed this newest counter offer.

"Is there even a bed in there for you to lay me on?"

"There's a mattress in the spare bedroom, it's one of the things I had the furniture place deliver while we were away to spare my and Jamal's poor, old backs."

"So you want to ravish me on a bare-ass mattress on the floor."

"It's a new mattress."

Eric scoffed, but eyed the set of keys jingling in his husbands hand, then appraised the teasing grin on his face.

"Everyone will see."

"Nonsense, there's blinds in the windows."

"I meant see you carry me in!"

Kharis still failed to see the drama here. "However shall they get past seeing a man carry his new bride over the threshold, oh the horrors," he chided, still refusing to unlock the door. "Come on, it's sweet, and I promise, I'll take you straight to bed and make good on those promises I made in the car, hm?"

Again Eric wavered, his mind flipping back to said promises, most of which weren't things Eric wanted repeated on a nice cul-de-sac.

"....fine, if it'll shut you up," Eric relented, and almost immediately found himself upended and breathless, quietly thrilled at how easily Kharis could lift him; he practically cradled him in one arm as he eased the door open; in retrospect, he probably should have opened it first, but he seemed so damned pleased to carry his new bride into their new house that Eric chose not to point this out. He easily closed the door behind him with his foot and, indeed, took Eric directly to the master bedroom, letting him fall gently to the mattress below him, and quickly lowered himself atop him.

"You aren't seriously gonna fuck me on a bare mattress," Eric deadpanned, despite the interest he always had when Kharis cornered him into a position like this.

Kharis held his cheek, bringing his face up for a kiss, and pulled away only with much reluctance.

"As much as it pains me to say, no, my love, you deserve better than that, and we have a lot to finish in just a day."

With a blending of relief and bitter disappointment, Eric stole another kiss from his husband, nipped his ear once and promised he could have his way with him after they had something to show for their work. If they didn't pass out from exhaustion first; they had a whole fucking house to pack up and move. Which was...a nightmare. They had already packed up their car with boxes, the small essentials. Bathroom items, pots and pans, bedding for the mattress. Lieutenant Marco owned a pickup, and had been pressed into service to help haul the bed frame, the couch, and anything else Kharis couldn't shove into the back seat. 

...honestly, despite the amount of work they needed to get done before Kharis went back to work tomorrow morning, it was sort of fun. They put music on as loud as they wanted, sipping on a flow of iced coffee to keep them going as they carried in load after load of boxes, trash bags, and storage totes full of, mostly, Kharis's things. Eric didn't own much that needed to be moved; before the wedding he had shoved all his CEC shit in 4 boxes. From home hed packed up 3, of his clothes, photos, notebooks and journals, and a few more sentimental knick knacks and stuffed animals. Everything from his old life fit into the trunk and backseat, then to a corner of his new bedroom, shared with his new husband. 

It...it was...a thing that occured. Alright.

By evening, Marco had been sent home, thanked well for his time, reimbursed with food and the Pages had just over half of their belongings packed into their new house 

"We can go after work on Saturday for more, darling," Kharis told him from his spot absolutely flat on his back on the floor. Eric joined him, aching, in staring up at the bright white ceiling fan in their living room. "There's still clothes, linens, most of the garage-"

"Sh. Shhhhsh," Eric put a finger to his lips. "Stop...just stop talking, I don't wanna think about how much we have left to do. My frail little Carrier arms can't sort anymore."

Kharis let out the most disgusted scoff Eric could ever remember hearing.

"Whatever, Eric, you're no dainty little prince," he tossed back wryly, and Eric swung his leg over to kick him at the hip.

"I said shut it, Page. Uuugh, can we do dinner? And just, like, not look at all these boxes?"

Kharis agreed, though it took them both another ten minutes to finally ease themselves up off the floor, Kharis teasing his bride over his laziness and Eric poking Kharis about his age.

"Well you married me, Eric, you'll learn to appreciate an older man."

Eric shushed him with a hip-check and a kiss, and the two pored over an online menu for a local pizzeria, arguing over toppings. Eric wanted extra pepperoni, Kharis wanted chicken, spinach and tomatoes

"Spinach on a pizza, Kharis? Are you kidding me?" Eric groaned. "Salad and pizza aren't interchangeable you know."

"I happen to like something besides salted meat for supper," he defended himself, holding the phone outside his wife's limited reach.

"There's more than meat!" Crowded an insulted Eric. "There's tomato sauce, that's a vegetable, and cheese!"

"How well balanced of you."

"Sue me, I don't deprive myself the simple pleasures in life, like pizza with the good shit. Come ooon, we can go half and half?"

Despite Eric's whining, Kharis still grinned at his attempts to climb up his arm for the phone.

"Pick a vegetable for your side too, at least. Make me feel less guilty feeding you junk."

Obviously exasperated, Eric groaned, asked for peppers, and gave one of his playful rugs on Khariss loose curls.

"We can eat good after were moved in, Ris. Another night of carbs isn't gonna kill me, you're starting to sound like the dieticians at Stillwater."

"Good, because I care about you being well fed and healthy."

"Kharis omigod. Next you're gonna start feeding me kale and oysters like they did to keep us fertile."

"Well not yet-"

"KHARIS PAGE!"

)))(((

Monday morning, Kharis woke at 4:15 to get ready for work, and it was Eric's turn to reach over into the warm space of an empty bed.

"Hm…? This early?" He slurred, his voice muffled by sleepy lips and his pillow. Half dressed, shirt tucked in and collar up to work on his tie, Kharis nodded in the dim light.

"Yeah, baby boy, gotta be on base by 0500, to work with fucking cadets who have no idea what they're doing. By new years it will be later, 0600"

"So much better," he frumped, and scooted himself over to the warm pocket left by his husband.

"A little, it is. Now you go back to sleep, darling. I can afford you that luxury till children arrive so I expect you to honor it."

Eric, taking no more convincing, nodded and snuggled back down further into the mattress and their sheets. 

"Love you, Ris."

"Love you too, my Eric."

)))(((

Cardboard cuts, Eric had decided long before lunch, were the hot new method of execution for those seemed most unworthy of a merciful end. What crimes he himself was guilty of committing or what old gods he had offended, Eric could not be sure, but there he was, nursing another slice between his fingers, angrily kicking at a box of history books.

"Cocksucking motherfucker," he groused, his bare feet making small dents in the rippled box. Ugh, 3 hours and 6 minutes into being a housewife and he was already so done with this shit. But, for now, this was what needed to be done. It was fair. Kharis had a career, a very involved and high paying one, and everything they had, marriage included, rode on him maintaining said career. He couldn't take more time off just to set up house so, it fell to Eric, with no career, to take care of that mess.

It was fine. He was glad to have something to do, it was just that, this house was just a house. Bare walls and hills of boxes, trash bags of stuff tossed on the couch and none of the furniture in its final place. Everything was in a state of upheaval, Eric included. Part of him wanted desperately to call his dad, but he felt it was too soon. He didn't want to feel like he was relying so heavily on him, not when he was a married Carrier now, and ought to be learning shit on his own. Well...ok. if this place didn't feel like home yet, then wasn't that literally his job as a homemaker?

Yeesh, what a word. Eric Aster Page was no homemaker. Sure he could clean up after himself and cook well enough, but that word brought up images of himself in a circle skirt and apron and pearl earrings, a nightmarish image indeed. No, he could put together their home without having to call himself a homemaker, damnit!

His music faded out, silence between songs, and Eric sighed, twisting the plain wedding hand on his left hand. Everything was really hitting home now, ever since he woke up in a silent house. No dad yelling at him to get up, no other Carriers teasing each other. No class to get to- he'd already achieved what the entire CEC experience was for. He was married now, the perfect little bit of domestic bliss, set for a life of caring and nurturing and motherhood and creating the bedrock of the Union's strength...eugh. Around his ring spun, smooth and cool against his skin. Calm down, he told himself with each turn. Just calm down. You're Mrs. Page now, not Mrs. Jameson or some similar nightmare. Kharis was a good man. Kharis wanted to help him. Kharis wouldn't turn their wedding rings into a shackle. Soon, he could start working for his GED, soon he could look into learning bookkeeping or nursing or learn to sew, get himself a few hours of work a week, like anyone else did! Like any man would. It's just...this was for now, he told himself, scooting forward to unfurl another box. Just for now-

BIIING BONG

Eric nearly sliced his arm open on a box cutter as this unknown invasion called a doorbell assaulted his ears, scaring the living hell out of him for more reasons than just being startled. Who. The fuck. Was coming to call at 11 am on a monday morning, to a house they'd lived in for 22 hours? Suddenly very aware that he was a Carrier alone in a large house, his eyes darted to the door, beside which was affixed a keypad, blinking a small red light. Their security system was the one thing Kharis had done for the home before the wedding, sensors that would emit an ear shattering wail if set off, and alert both Kharis and the police immediately. He knew the code, he'd memorized it diligently, in case he set it off himself, but suddenly he was afraid his own mess up wouldn't be the first sound. 

Another chime, and Eric cringed, holding his phone in shaking hands as he slowly stepped towards the door, raising himself up on tiptoe to look through the peephole, ready to call the cops on some pervert-

Oh. Shit, nevermind. Quickly his fingers flew over the keypad, pressing in 6 numbers, none of which was anyone's birthday or anniversary because Major General Kharis Page was no idiot, till a soft beep emitted and the light went green. Then the lock, deadbolt, and he flung open the door for his guest on the porch. 

"Howdy neighbor," said Dove in as cheesey a voice as possible, holding up a tray of cookies wrapped in green cellophane.

"Dove, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know, I was just in the neighborhood. On account'a I live here." Holding the plate in one hand, he gestured his thumb over his shoulder. "Kyle and I live in 1511, just lije 4 houses down the street, and Owens just catacornerr to me!"

Honestly Eric felt like a fucking idiot. Of course Dove and Owen would live nearby. This neighborhood was for families, for men and their Carrier wives, of which there were only so many in the area. 

Inviting himself in, Dove brushed past Eric to the front room, laying the cookies atop a still sealed box. "Owen sends his love, by the way. He really can't make the trip though. "

"Still pregnant?"

"He's the size of a small hippo at this point. Due, like, yesterday, but doc says it's all going fine. He's real excited, Teagan too."

Eric nodded, peering at the plate as Dove unwrapped the plastic.

"You make these?"

Dovine beamed, picking up one and handing it to Eric.

"Yup, I'm Betty fucking Crocker, man."

Eric bit in with relish, which should be a show of how well entrusted Dove, and savored sweet and salty, stretchy bites of caramel mixing with chocolate chips.

"Ducking delishush," he said with his mouth full, and Dove just rolled his eyes, bitching about his manners.

God Eric missed Dove; having him literally close enough to yell at his front door was a delight he had never considered when he signed himself up as a new bride.

Sharing the plate between them, Eric brought iced coffee to accompany their oh so balanced lunch, and Dove caught Eric up on all the gossip. Tomas and his boyfriend would get married after his baby was born, much to the dismay of his very Catholic family. Perry and his boyfriend had some huge falling out, Perry punched him in the face, knocking out a front tooth, and, most importantly, Zion had made another attempt to run.

"Shit, seriously?? Did he make it out again?!" Asked Eric, leaning forward on his knees eagerly, but Dove shook his head.

"No, those security systems your husband develops is top tier, man. He made it to the fence but there were 4 guards on him immediately, even as dark as it was. Everyone's been talking about that Carrier who disappeared from Omaha a couple weeks back. Still never found him. Uh...Ramirez was it? Raul? Dunno, something Spanish, but ever since that story came around, man, you could tell Zion was wanting to run again, musta inspired him-"

"Ricardo?"

"Huh?" Dove said, crumbs spilling from his lips, the picture of poised femininity.

Eric chewed idly on his fingernail as he thought, dragging his memories like nets through a lake.

"The runaway...he was like 28 right? Was it Ricardo?"

"Uh...yeah, actually, that sounds right," Dove said thoughtfully, picking up some of his dropped chocolate bits, both to spare Mrs. Page the extra cleaning and to, well, chocolate. "But I wasn't really paying attention, not with Jameson hanging around trying to get with the new boy. Why?"

Eric sat down his own cookie, and brought his nail back up to chew instead.

"Do you...do you remember that night out on the back porch, when it stormed? And Zion was telling us about his fiance?"

"Yeah?"

"Wasn't he a Puerto Rican Carrier named Ricardo?"

"... … … oh mother FUCKER."

Rattled by Doves sharp exclamation, Eric flapped his hands down frantically, still CEC paranoid of eavesdroppers.

"I don't remember exactly so I might be wrong, but what if that's why Zion tried to run? Besides the obvious I mean."

"Well yeah, I'd have run too, if I had a snowballs chance in hell-"

Dove continued talking, soft pittiances for the heartbroken Zion wanting to find his lover, but Eric's mind was spacing out, struggling to priced together this tragic tale, but also slowly clicking together other pieces of his own puzzle. 

'I'd have run too.' Khariss words from his first date, said with such honesty and blunt conviction contrasted starkly with how he begged Eric to never run from him. Fear hung so heavily in the car that night, a near panic dripping from his husbands lips, and here in the sunny living room, his heart clenched at the memory of being held so desperately tight. 

Slowly, Dove's voice reached him again, still worried for Zion, and Eric winced.

"So is he...y'know, alive?"

Dove shared his trepidation, and reached up to unwind his hair from it's ponytail to fidget with the tie.

"He got put on another week in psych...uh...after Jameson beat him so hard he broke skin with that yardstick."

"Jesus Christ-"

"And now he has till January before they assign him a husband."

Eric tasted the acrid burn of vomit threaten the back of his throat and he took a deep swallow of his milk coffee to shove it back down.

"But that's only what, 6 months since he got there?!"

Dove stretched the hair tie between his fingers like a cat's cradle, soft locks of long white hair falling to block his eyes.

"Yeah well...same shit they use to do with women in the old days, you know? If they're getting uppity and rebellious you marry them off and get them pregnant."

"...do your duty, Carrier, " Eric Page whispered to his for -now empty house as he twirled his wedding band on his finger. Dove just nodded down at his lap.

"...so this might not be the best time to mention our owners, but it's almost noon so; I'm bringing Kyle lunch down on field, do you wanna come with and being some of these cookies to the general?"

Somehow Eric managed to peek his head over the edge of the pit he was starting to go down, allowing himself to show a mild interest.

"We...we allowed to go on our own?"

Dove nodded, reaching to smooth his hair back into a ponytail again.

"Mmhm. It's a 6 minute walk, and we're still on base, behind ten feet of barbed wire, and it's your husband who checks, hires and trains all the guards you know, and if Kharis hasn't made them all commit your face to memory I'll atop wearing pants all together. We're safe as we could ever be in this hellhole."

Eric wavered, peering hesitantly at the door. Kharis hadn't told him he wasn't allowed…

"Come ooon," dove wheeled, sending Eric's resolve crumbling. "You go brush your hair and put on something pretty and we go show off in front of a bunch of dumb soldiers. This is literally our job now, to make our husbands look good, you know. "

He said it sardonically and with no small amount of bitter fruit, but Dove surely had no idea how very true that was to Eric. He was right, it would probably be very good for Kharis' image, if O'Rourke or anyone else were around, to see that General Page had a very beautiful and capable wife at home to take up the housework, free Khariss time for military duty, and keep him stress-free and satisfied. As lowly as a call as that seemed, Eric tried to remind himself that he wasn't married to some lazy, old money businessman's son, but to a military maverick with considerable power. If he could do something this simple to out the odds more in their favor, then it seemed worth the embarrassment.

Eric agreed, eager for some time away from boxes, and wrapped up Kharis's share of Doves treats. At Dove's suggestion, he changed clothes, slipping into a silk wrap skirt and white blouse to look the part of the generals Carrier. The pair stopped for Kyle's lunch from Dove's home, and Dove lead the way down to the main offices, through their neighborhood of officers homes, past the armory, and each time they walked by an officer, the men would stop for a kind hello or to at least raise their hats, which was part charming and part aggravating. Finally they reached the edge of a large training field. A red track surrounded the grassy space, inside which stood several climbing walls, ropes to scale, and other shit that looked like a school field day around the 6th circle of Hell. And men, dozens of men in lines and formation, canvas pants and t shirts doing nothing to block the heat of the prairie sun. Soldiers scrambling to follow the enraged and bellowing orders of their commanding officer, Kharis sounding nearly beside himself at the apparent failure of his cadets. 

"The nearest base, Deerfield? It closed down just last week," Dove explained over the din as Kharis dismissed his men for lunch. "While you were on your honeymoon. The buildings are hella old and their CO croaked, so now they're consolidating here at Fort Wardon. Good news for your man's job, bad news for his well being because it's another surprise month of cadets being cadets. Have fun with that at home!"

"Wanna kick your ass Dove," Eric grit out, not looking forward to his new husbands stress. He just sighed, and began to weave his way across the field to reach Kharis (who looked ready to have a fit) when he heard somebody call out his name.

"Eric? Shit, Eric, that you?"

He turned around, startled, to see a tall cadet with strawberry blonde hair jog over to him, looking like those lukewarm steps were as fast as he could move now. Eric recognized Sean immediately, from homeroom, from algebra, from his long-missed soccer team, and couldn't help the grin that broke across his face.

"Sean, shit! I haven't seen you in forever!"

His high school friend beamed, wide eyed. "Yeah, dude, not since what, February?! Man we thought maybe you'd left the damn country as fast as you disappeared! What's been going on?"

And here Eric froze, cookies in hand, from starting to falter because wasn't...wasn't it obvious? With the loose shaggy hair, the natori wrapped down past his knees, a riot of red and pink roses, the long haired companion next to him?

"W..well, I...I'm here," he said lamley, stumbling over his words. "I'm uh...I changed, Sean...I thought everyone would have assumed…"

Sean turned a deep plum color, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I mean...yeah man, eventually, but we didn't know...you uh. Um. You look good. Pretty."

Poor fuck. Sean was never his brightest friend, but he was kind, doofy, always the first one to follow a stupid dare. He was trying. 

"Ah...thanks, yeah...I actually um, I just got back from my honeymoon."

"...but you've only been gone like 8 months."

Grin now tight lipped from the sheer awkwardness of this exchange, Eric grit his teeth and nodded. 

"Yeah...yeah it's soon, but that's how it goes, I guess...but Its ok, it's working out."

Sean nodded earnestly, trying to find some way to bridge this gap and not sound like the world's most insensitive asshole.

"Yeah, totally, bro, I get it, uh...well congrats! Lucky man! I mean, not that I would want...I mean yeah you know I had a crush on you but that was in, like, 7th grade…but you do make a pretty Carrier, not saying that-"

"Cadet Harp do you have business with these young gentlemen or are you just needing more work to fill your time because that can be arranged."

Lord almighty Kharis looked ready to smack someone, slipping easily from fuck knows where to stand half between Eric and Sean. Sweat shone on his deep skin, and he looked ready for a dark room and a shower, but this was infinitely more important. 

"Sir!" Sean immediately straightened his back to salute his general, but Kharis didn't acknowledge it with so much as a nod, and just glared.

Eric, pitying the poor man, leapt in, holding his plate up a little higher.

"Hey, Kharis, sweetie. Dovine and I just wanted to come see you guys for lunch, and I ran into Sean. We went to school together, and use to play soccer."

Kharis's eyebrows rose as he nodded slowly, letting his gaze roam from his wife over to what must have been a much reviled cadet.

"You knew my wife then, Cadet?"

"You married my chemistry partner, Sir?!"

Oh Lord Kharis was so out of patience right now, but as ever, he was a man who could control himself, and he simply nodded curtly towards the cadet, who looked absolutely terrified, before turning a much softer gaze towards his wife.

"These look excellent, darling, thank you. Did you bake them?"

"Hell no that's all Dove."

"Well, thank you, Mrs. Miller; you bringing lunch to your husband? Yes? Lovely, he'll be so glad to see the two of you."

Eric nodded, standing on toes for a kiss.

"The both of you stay together while you're out, understand?"

"Yes, Kharis."

"That's my boy. I need to hit the showers and rinse off before a meeting this afternoon. I'll be home around 6, my love. Mrs. Miller, my regards...Cadet Harp, move along."

Nobody questioned the generals instructions, and Sean was quick to turn and go, but he waved almost hesitantly over his shoulder to Eric as he left, turning away before Eric could return the gesture.

"...you good, Er?" Asked Dove with a note of hesitation, leaning just a little closer to his friend now that they were alone 

Eric pursed his lips, twisting his wedding band a few times with his thumb before laying his free hand gently over his lower belly. 

"I don't...think I would make a good soldier," Eric whispered, the sounds of the generals turbulent screams seeming to haunt the yard. "And I definitely wasn't smart enough to get into university like you did…"

"Hm. Maybe so...good thing you changed then?"

Eric was thoughtful, fingers tugging gently on the silk of his skirt. It fell in soft gathers from his hoos, wider than Seans would have needed to grow, a sort floral print no soldier would wear. It was suddenly terribly difficult to imagine himself clothed in canvas and fatigues, the weight of a rifle so much heavier than the weight of a newborn in his arms. 

"...maybe, Dove. The more I think about it, yeah. Shit could be worse."


	35. Lani

Eric and Kharis's plans to clear out more from the old house on Saturday had to be put on hold on account of Owen being very much in labor.

"Bout time," was all Eric said deadpan into the phone when Dove called to share the news at 10. "Pretty sure he's done fucking cooking by now."

Kharis worked half days on Saturdays, a perk of his rank, and was home by 1 to pick up his young bride, buy flowers, and drop in for a quick visit. Honestly Eric found it sort of sweet; Kharis had no social obligation to visit his wife's friend in the hospital, even to drive Eric there, but the option of skipping out didn't even seem to occur to him.

Which was. Absolutely not how Eric wanted to spend his Saturday afternoon. Hospitals were a crap enough place as is, let alone a maternity ward. Perhaps in another world, another life, it was someplace mostly cheery, happy families welcoming new babies, wanted babies. Maybe in another world he had visited such a place to see his mother, and a new baby brother or even a sister. Or, even, with a wife of his own. But that was another Eric. This Eric walked into the guarded ward holding carnations and his husbands hand, past walls painted pale blue, paintings of gardens or Victorian mothers holding infants. That was in poor taste, if one were to ask Eric. Those lovely, painted ladies weren't the one's becoming mothers here.

At the doorway to room 207, Eric balked, his shoes nearly skidding on the tile floors, and in a reverse of their wedding it was the general who nearly lost his footing.

"...Eric, darling, come on, you'll want to see Owen, won't you?"

"In theory," he said through grit teeth, eyeing the nurses station, the doorway, the other rooms, all with mounting anxiety, certainly palpable to his husband. 

Kharis sighed, letting go of Eric's hand to pull him close 

"It's alright, Eric, I know it's stressful. But remember, you have time, we're taking things slow, and Owens content with this, he's excited to be a mom, so let's go in, give him some pretty flowers, wish him well? Just a few minutes."

Of course he relented. He wanted to see Owen, he needed to see he was ok, so he let Kharis's hand settle on his back and lead him in.

Owen, round as ever, sat semi- cross legged down at the foot of his bed, next to his husband, with Dovine at his side in a cushioned chair. A spread of cards showed a game between the three, keeping Owen distracted.

"There you are, took you long enough," said Owen as way of greeting Eric. He smiled though, and waved Eric closer for as much of a hug as he could give the younger carrier in his current state.

"Hey, Owen, how you doing?"

"Eh. Labor's shit, so far, but I can't fucking wait to lay on my stomac again holy shiiiit. And for my back to stop KILLING me. And to stop peeing every five minutes. 

"Fun times, you are the glowing picture of motherhood," quipped Dove as he drew another card. "Sup Eric."

"A pleasure, Eric" said Teagan, smiling kindly despite the stress evident on his face. He didn't know Owen's husband terribly well, as a more reserved and private man and being over 30 years Eric's senior, but he was kind enough, more stern than Kharis, but seemed to adore spoiling his little bride. Owen liked him more and more the longer they were married, it seemed, since he went from "ew he's old" to "my husband must just be more mature."

With a firm hand on his shoulder, Kharis reminded Eric of the flowers, which he held out as awkward as a teenager in his first date.

"They're so pretty, I love carnations!" Owen gushed, folding his cards down onto the bed to accept his gift. He held them to his nose, sighing pleasantly. "Thank you!"

Kharis retrieved a plastic vase from his satchel, filling it with water from the sink as Eric sat down very awkwardly on the edge of the hospital bed.

"So uh...how...how you doing?" He asked, scratching his leg with one foot.

Owen shrugged. "I mean, I'm handling it. It's not so bad yet, still early. Probably gonna be several hours before anything happens."

"That's why were on round 7 of rummi," chimed in Dove, who seemed more than done with the card game but was humoring Owen, cause, well, Owen was gonna have a baby in like 10 hours, who the fuck was gonna deny him anything he wanted?

"Speaking of which it's your turn, ho." Said a very self satisfied Owen, picking up his cards again.

The finished in just a couple more loops, the round going to Dove, despite his bitching, and Owen gathered the deck back together, splitting it in two and starting to shuffle.

"How about you guys, huh? Want dealt in? We could do poker now that we have a man with money in...ah….shit-!"

Owen let the deck fall to the blankets below him, pressing one hand to his belly instead, the other clawing out beside him for his husband. Dutifully Teagan took his wife's hand and held it tight, bending close towards him.

"Ok, you're alright, darling, in short, out long, ok? Just like you learned in class...no, Owen, stop holding your breath damnit-"

Owen nodded vaguely, cornsilk hair wanting to fall free of his bun. He clenched his eyes tight, rocking slightly as he breathed, and Eric all but leapt off the bed to the safety of his husbands arms.

"it's not contagious," said Kharis in a tone between teasing and scolding. "Look, see? Dove's ok."

Well yes good for Dove, parting Owens leg awkwardly, it wasn't Dove he was worried over it was Owwn, who let his breath out only with a deep, shaking groan.

"Ok...I'm ok," he panted after a few more moments, relaxing his grip on Teagans hand and flashing a wavering smile to his Carrier friends. "They're just actually starting to hurt now, so…"

"Lovely," Eric queaked in a pre pubescent voice, balking as Kharis tried to guide him forward again with more insistence.

Dove was quiet, but pale, having seen more of Owen's labor than Eric wanted. This just...this made him nervous. He felt out of place here, and...and afraid. There was no denying that. He could see it on Dove's face too. This wasn't that awful video Taylor made them watch, this was real, this was one of their best friends being the first of their trio to have a baby, and they knew they were in line.

Their only salvation was how actually excited Owen seemed to be. Once hed recovered from the contraction, he was eager to dig through his bag and show his friends the blanket he'd made for his baby, soft green and lavender crochet, the little onesie and the too-small socks. He showed Eric pictures of the nursery Teagan had put together (Eric had to wonder what it was like for him, starting a new family again at 50). For the better part of twenty minutes Owen went on about names and his stepkids and the picture books he'd bought, pausing only once for another contraction. Some of his rambling might have been his attempts to distract himself or gloss over the more frightful parts of his changing world, but Eric could see it in his eyes, and had been able to since he met Owen. He accepted this life, he welcomed it, and everything it could do for him and his family, and Eric knew in a few hours he'd take his newborn into his arms and be actually, truly happy with him. Silently Eric prayed, feeling his husband close behind him, the will-be father of his children, that when that came to pass for him, he could be even half as excited. Maybe he should learn to crochet, Owen's project looked quite soothing...

Leaving soon after with Kharis's arm around his waist, Dove trailing behind, Eric tried to imagine himself a year, 2 into the future, leaving this ward to return home with a baby, his first son, and it was an overwhelming image for any 18 year old. He had no idea how his own mother could have decided to keep him all those years ago, just 17 and single and pregnant. Maybe she was just made of stronger stuff than her only son. Or maybe an Endgame Child just really could never understand the world before.

)))(((

At 10:14 that evening, Teagan sent Dove and Eric a group text from Owen's phone, and both Carriers opened the attachments at the same time. Immediately they saw the main attraction, a photo of Owen, sweat soaked and red from tears, holding his firstborn son, still wet and bruise-colored, wrinkled and vaguely person-shaped. Despite looking half dead and exhausted, Owen was beaming, stroking his baby's cheek with the back of his hand.

"God it's so ugly, " Dove breathed, and Eric nodded sagely.

"Yeah and the baby isn't looking too great either."

"/Eric/," Kharis reprimanded, giving a rare look of disapproval to his Carrier, but Eric didn't apologize, hoping his cute face and the stress of the situation would spare him his first real scolding. Somehow, it did, and all Kharis chose to do was tap him lightly atop his head as he peered over their shoulders at the phone. Teagan had sent a whole slideshow, photos with Owens father, one with Teagan himself at Owen's side, helping weak arms support the baby.

"His name is Lani" Dove read out, "weighed 7 and a half pounds, healthy, mommas doing good."

Eric nodded, chewing on his fingernail as he flipped back and forth between the photographs. Momma looked ready to keel over to him, but he supposed if he made it through without bleeding to death…

"Can...can we go see him tomorrow?" Eric asked his husband, and Kharis hummed quietly. 

"If he's up for visitors, sure sweetie," he promised, "I'm sure Dove and Captain Miller will be wanting to visit too?"

Dove nodded, still staring at the photo on his screen.

"Yeah...yeah, I'm sure we'll go. Ah, I really ought to be heading back, actually. I'm sure Kyle enjoyed the quiet time but it's late...uh, thanks for having me, Kharis. See ya Eric."

Kharis offered to walk Dove home, but he refused, claiming it was a short walk. Kharis, not one to take flippant disregard of safety for granted, stood on the porch all the same, making sure the Carrier reached his front door safe and sound. 

)))(((

When Owen woke up the sky outside his window was still inky black, lit only by streetlights 2 floors below. Through tired, blurred eyes, the lights shimmered and glowed, deep orange and amber, and he smiled faintly at the show.

"Hey, beautiful, what you doing awake?" 

Owen sighed, finding it immensely difficult to find the strength to turn his head towards that voice, one growing more comforting and familiar every day.

"Teagan? Where's Lani?" He asked immediately, instinctively reaching for his middle. Teagan was quicker though, and took Owens hand gently in his own, careful of the IV line at his wrist.

"He's right here beside you sweetie, has his own little bed and everything. He's sleeping, like you ought to be, Momma."

"Not your mom, 'm his," slurred Owen, waving his fingers in a vague "over there" gesture.

Teagan laughed quietly. "You're right, Owen...how you feeling, my love? Do you need a nurse?"

"Need Lani."

"I know sweetie, but he's alright, why don't you rest a little longer, you've only slept for about an hour and a half."

That was news to Owen. He felt like he'd been in a coma for a week or more, though as a little of his brain fog cleared he wondered if that might just be the drugs and the pain talking. He ached something terrible, his back hot and his legs feeling like he'd attempted a very poorly executed marathon. Still, though, the painkillers kept him in a delightful rest, and he balked at the suggestion of sleep. He wanted to see his baby, damnit, and now.

...unfortunately his mind held far more will than his overtaxed body, and trying to press himself upright resulted only in his arms giving out from under him and his back hitting the firm mattress entirely too hard.

"Owen, now, don't try that just yet," his husband sighed, fumbling for the remote to move his bed to help him sit up. That's how Teagan was; he wasn't the most forthcoming with sugary words or cuddles, but instead showed his devotion to his wife through action. If Owen mentioned how cold he got at night, Teagan would check all the windows for drafts over the weekend and buy Owen warmer pajamas. When Owen began to fret over his expanding middle, he might not have known how to make him feel better, but he'd brought home catalogues and magazines of maternity clothes. And for Owen, that sort of affection was perfect for them, even if it might not be perfect for someone else. He didn't need a sweeping romance and roses and candles so long as his husband showed he cared in his own way. And didn't beat him. That was always Carrier goal #1.

Sitting up as much as he could, Owen could see the little plexiglass bed where his baby lay, all swaddled up safe and warm. Sure maybe it would be better to let him sleep more, but Owen couldn't stand not seeing him, and he was eager to hold his little boy as Teagan lay him down so gently in his arms.

"He's gotten heavier already…"

"No, Owen, you're just shaky and all the endorphins are wearing off."

Whatever, Teagan wasn't a Carrier, he didn't know shit… … Owen still let him sit right next to him, wrapping his arms around Owen to help support their newborn. He was perfect, and beautiful and so, so small, paler than Owen with just a little of daddy's dark hair on top of his head. Blue eyes, but most babies had those anyway. Ten fingers, ten toes, fat tummy-

"I made this," Owen breathed, letting Lani's head rest against his arm.

Beside him Teagan started to laugh, but it was a soft sound and died away quickly.

"Yeah, Owen, you did, and he's wonderful. You did so well, darling...are you sure you don't want to sleep a bit more?"

"Later," he grumbled dismissively, and let one trembling finger brush over his wisps of hair, terrified of bumping his soft spot. "Wanna hold him a bit. "

"...ok, Owen. You made him and birthed him, you deserve that," Teagan said mildly, laying a kiss to his wife's cheek. "But only a few more minutes, then you're lying back down, you've got to take it easy for a little while, understood?"

"Yeah yeah," Owen dismissed, knowing that the fact he'd spent 17 hours in labor delivering Teigen's baby would earn him some leeway for a good month or two before the Captain decided he was the head of the house again. That was a downside to an old husband, he preferred his wife at home full time, didn't see a need for Owen to work. Traditionalist, he was, not the most appealing qualities, but it suited Owen well. Being at home in a comfortable house with a sturdy provider who liked him and children to look after, his friends within reach, life could be worse. Remembering the hunger pangs and the cold nights spent in bus stations, watching his little brother cry from flea bites and thirst, Owen knew better than anyone it could be worse.

Honest to God he has no memory of falling asleep, but he must have, because next he knew, it was morning, sunlight filling his hospital room, and he was awoken by the sound of his baby's cries and his husbands tired shushing, eager to get to his newest child.

"Nono, Lani, you're alright, hushup child, I got you," he cold, their son looking even smaller in Teagans arms.

Yeah...maybe theirs wasn't a fairytale marriage, maybe Teagan and Owen had a challenge of a generation gap, maybe Dove or Eric might pity his situation, but this was, for Owen, better than anything he could have hoped for just 2 years ago.


	36. Shell Shock

The Page family spent an hour Sunday afternoon with Owen and Teagan in the hospital, and Eric had been right; Owen was head over heels in love with Lani, reluctant to have him outside his own arms. Apparently even Teagan had only held him a couple times already, but the old Captain seemed content to let his wife bond. Though this made it surprising when Owen tried to pass him off to Eric, who was less than thrilled.

"You and my brother-in-law," he griped, knowing by now better than to refuse. "What is it with everyone wanting me to hold their kids? All you're doing is giving my husband ideas!" Yet he took the baby all the same, feeling not much more confident than when he held Jun for the first time, and this baby was like 3 pounds smaller and way too flimsy. But Owen, still hopped up on painkillers and hormones and little sleep, started crying, telling Eric he looked so pretty holding a baby and he and Dove needed to hurry up and get pregnant so their babies could be friends. 

"Uh, I'll hold off on that offer, thanks," Eric said, wishing Owen wouldn't cry so easy. "We're all probably gonna have, like, 25 between us, I'm sure a few of them are bound to end up the same age."

Owen found that too adorable, and only wanted to cry more, poor Teagan struggling to get his Carrier to not get so lost in a moment and calm down. Meanwhile, Kharis took to all but begging Eric to let him take a picture of him holding Lani, eliciting one of the best whining fits Eric thought he'd thrown since gradeschool...in the end, though, he relented, because, 1, Lani was kinda cute and seemed to like him...or was maybe just hungry considering he seemed to be trying to root at Eric's shirt and 2, he'd managed to put on eyeliner that morning and not fuck it up and he was proud enough to want to immortalized this top tier Carrier behavior in a photo. Why the fuck not. He smiled, let Kharis snap a couple that he's sure went directly to Daisuke and Jamal, and let Kharis apologize with a quick kiss before Owen decided he wanted his son back. This suited Eric just fine because Lani seemed to realize this Carrier was not his mother and could not feed him and was beginning to fuss based on this discovery. 

Eric was eager to give the infant back to Owen to nurse, but he couldn't deny it had felt almost calming to hold him for those few moments. His forbid he ever tell his husband this.

)))(((

A full week of being back home and learning on the job how to run a house and Eric was growing just the tiniest bit bored. Theirs was a new house, without time yet for dust to settle on knick knacks or minor repairs for Eric to teach himself to tend to. He could eat up quite a bit of time cooking a nice dinner for himself and his husband, or paying astute attention to the ironing, and he didn't even hate housework the way Dove did, but he was just not much for sitting in an empty house all day looking for imaginary stains in the carpet.

So it was a damn good thing that Dove and Owen both lived fucking close. It was Owen's home that was becoming their go-to hideaway, since he had first the most trouble moving farther than the bathroom and now a newborn baby, but should Eric and Dove not feel like playing auntie or should mom and Lani be down for a nap, Eric's home was larger and had the bigger yard to laze about in.

"You gonna start a garden up in the spring?" Asked Dove, lying on the grass. Well, lying stop 3 towels protecting his skin from the blades because he had stupidly delicate skin and it gave him hives. 

Eric looked around his yard, to the areas near their fence, and tried to imagine vegetables or flowers springing up from the soil. "Maybe. That could be nice. That'll be like 6 months in, I'll still have time to do stuff like that, before…"

"Yeah," said Dove in a wistful voice. "It's all I'm thinking about too. Like. I could seriously be pregnant right now and not even know it, thats ...thats nuts."

Eric sat up quickly, grass stuck in his short blonde hair because he did not have allergies, and said in the manliest squeak he could, "do you think you are?!"

"...I mean. Could be," he sighed, looking up at the cloudless sky. First of October, mild and breezy. "We don't use condoms, you know I'm not on birth control, and we have sex pretty often...it'll be surprising if I'm not pregnant by New Years."

Eric nodded, his heart beat quick, and tucked his chin into his knees, holding his legs tight. 

"Do you...you ready for that?" He asked Dove, quiet as the prairie wind. "You might not be yet, and you have 18 months-"

"Not really," he said, his voice taking a familiar grit, full of bitterness and resentment, like he used when he spoke of his old job. "18 months is when you get reassigned, Eric, and conception isn't an exact science. You could go at it for 6 months or more before something takes, even if you're both perfectly healthy and you get your period like clockwork. It's more like you get 8 or 9 months before you gotta start worrying, start trying."

Eric ticked off months on his fingers, counting forward from mid September. 

"May or June for me then," he sighed, and let himself fall backwards Dove. "And just a month sooner for you."

"And fuck knows how long they're gonna keep the 2 year rule between, Eric. We still have a nice 14 year gap in the population. Even with twenty and thirty somethings our age changing later on, that's still gonna be awhile before the new Carriers come of age. Rumors starting that they wanna push the in between time to 18 months too."

Honestly, Eric couldn't even bring himself to be outraged right now. Maybe he was growing numb to the deluge of control and laws and regulations put on their bodies, or maybe this was just too predictable to warrant an upset. He just nodded, and closed his eyes, taking in the smell of the neighbors fresh cut grass as he let himself fall back onto the sun warmed lawn.

"Sounds about right...hey? Hey, Dove?"

"Yeah Er?" Dove prompted. Side by side, they faced different directions, one's head nearly cradling the others shoulder.

"Is it..I meant do you think it's fucked up," Eric began, stuttering along, "that I'm kinda...not excited, but...I think maybe when I get pregnant, it could be ok...I love Kharis, and if it's his baby…"

Dove was silent just long enough to get Eric's heart to pound, afraid of judgement and a scolding, of being ostracized for being a bad Carrier. Finally though, he sighed, and let his hand reach up to scratch Eric's head.

"No, kid, it's not fucked up, it's not wrong," he assured his friend calmly. "Honestly it's probably good for you to be at such a place, you know? We're both gonna be mothers before too long, so we might as well find the bright side."

Eeic nodded, relief easing the tension from his body.

"It's not like I'm ready, not yet," he continued. "I'm only 18, but I know im gonna have a kid by 20...I wanna learn to crochet, make a blanket like Owens," Eric said as though in confession. "It was really cute, and seemed like it was calming to make."

Dove hummed gently, not disagreeing, and continuing to pet through Eric's hair. "Sure...and as much as I hate to agree with that bastard on anything, Jamesons right. We don't have to worry about money or bills or food. That's not nothing."

"I think my ovaries just shriveled up thinking about Jameson and babies in the same moment," said Eric, barely able to contain a gag.

"Well see? Problem solved!" Laughed Dove, such a pretty, bell like sound, but it didn't cover up the hole they had just dug, that put that gaping pit their stomachs anytime they mentioned the Captain.

"...Dove? Did you ever tell Kyle, about that night?"

And the chasm opened wider. Doves hand still in his hair.

"No. Have you told your husband?"

"No. Not dad either. Not anyone."

And that's how they both wanted it, they agreed silently. Nobody needed to know. Who would care, anyway, about two hysterical Carriers upset that a man had touched what was up for grabs at the time? Well...maybe their husbands. Maybe. But neither wanted to test that theory out.

"...you think you'll have redheaded kids, Dove, or they just gonna pop out like snowballs like you?"

"Go fuck yourself, Page."

)))(((

Though Kharis's rank afforded their small family a great many perks and luxuries, there was the not insignificant drawback that Kharis was usually out snoring by 9pm, if not in bed then on the couch where they watched a movie. Eric couldn't blame him, not with another 2 weeks of 4am looming in the generals future, though it did leave Eric with another couple hours to fill before he decided to sleep. Usually he would watch the end of their movie, or finish up their dinner dishes. Sometimes he would dick around on the internet for a while, message Dove or Daniel, watch videos. Kharis made it very clear from day 1 that he had no locks or controls on his wifi, and Eric was allowed to do as he wished online, a luxury afforded to few carriers. Too often their husbands were paranoid about their pretty little breeders getting themselves into trouble, talking to other men or worse, other delinquent Carriers who might put liberal ideas in their heads. It seemed to Eric that a great many men seemed to think a Carriers life up until the change was null and void, dumping all their memories of freedom and autonomy. A Carrier didn't need an internet connection to remember that life used to be better. Kharis, blessedly, was not among those men, and gave no restrictions to what Eric could do online, though there was still a paranoia in the back of his mind that had him carefully considering every keystroke. His husbands specialty was security and programming, after all, and it was no stretch of the imagination that there could be spyware hidden in the laptop, recording everything Eric did. It didn't seem like Kharis, and he wasn't terribly worried, but he was a Carrier; it never hurt to assume the worst.

Well, not like he did anything salacious online anyhow. Most he got up to was message forums for his favorite comic series. It was nice to hang out with other boys and talk about bullshit without the fear of being hit on or raped. Online, no one knows you're a Carrier, and most of them adapted the old military adage of Don't Ask Don't Tell. So Eric killed an hour, then decided the house was too cold and dark and lonely at 11pm, so he washed his face, pulled on one of Kharis's t shirts for pajamas, and crawled into bed with a book and a reading light...it may or may not have been another of Owens trashy romance smut books which Eric may or may not have developed a guilty taste for. He was deeply ashamed of himself, but they were like salty potato chips, so easy to devour one after another...besides. no matter how shitty a setup or how bad the writing, the Carriers in these books always got a happy ending, and Eric needed that sometimes. Beside him, Kharis slept peacefully, and Eric, with nobody around to catch him, took a few good, long looks at his husbands bare back, taut skin and firm muscles, hardly giving a care to the webs of burn scars that marred his right side. 

He was 78 pages in, just around the time that young prince Daveon had been caught running away from his arranged marriage to a neighboring clans king, a spitfire of a Scottish redhead Eric liked immensely, when he was nearly knocked out of his bed by the unholy screams coming from his own husbands throat and the rageful way Kharis tore at his covers. Tangling himself in sheets and pajama pants and his own feet, Eric scurried out of bed, his book and reading light skidding across the wood floor to illuminate the underside of a dresser while Eric reached blindly for a light switch, trying to process the scene before him. Kharis didn't seem to be awake, not entirely; he seemed like he was trying to speak, but mostly it was just a sharp, agonized cry as he struggled to free himself from his blanket prison. 

Fucking walls, fucking house, fucking light switch that somehow magically moved so Eric couldn't find it! Only the ambient light from the street streaming through the blinds showed the violence of his husbands fit, and still he couldn't find the switch.

"Kh...Kharis?!" He choked in a voice so high it would make even the most effeminate Carrier envious. "Kharis wake up!"

His shouting didn't seem to have nearly the same effect on the general as his had on the young man huddled against the far wall.

Shit. What was he supposed to do in a dark room with his husband losing his Goddamn mind?!

"Kharis! Kharis please wake up, you're scaring me!" He pleaded, and finally, fucking finally, his fingertips brushed against the smooth porcelain of their switch, and he flicked on the overhead light. Thank God, this seemed to do something to snap Kharis out of his breakdown, though the situation looked no less terrifying in the light. Kharis sat bolt upright in bed, his hair sweat dampened and missed from the high puff he wore to bed, curls sticking to his face. His eyes were wide enough for Eric tonsre white around nearly r e whole iris, and he shook, shivering and panting, as he got whole of his senses.

After a quiet moment, Eric finally piped up, "Kharis...honey?"

Startled, Kharis snapped his head aside to find the source of the noise, making Eric jump back against the wall, and the Carrier had never seen a look of deeper regret and terror on a man's face before.

"Oh my God, Eric-!" He breathed, and immediately threw aside what was left of his sheets. Quick and unsteady, Kharis ambled towards his bride, but stopped by the foot of his bed, and Eric had to wonder if he looked as scared as he felt. Probably, judging by the guilt in Kharis's eyes.

"Fuck...fuck!" He grit his teeth, scrubbing his eyes hard with the heels of his hands. "Eric, baby...shit, I'm so sorry, are you ok?!"

Eric nodded dumbly, feeling his shirt tug up behind him as he slid down the wall, his legs finally giving out from under him. He settled onto the floor, feeling his heart start to slow. It was ok, it was just Kharis. Just his husband. Who looked so, so damn sad.

"Eric, love, I am so, so sorry," he repeated softly, slowly stepping closer to kneel in front of Eric. "I didn't hurt you did I?"

Eric shook his head. Kharis looked immensly relieved.

"Good, thank God."

"Why, was that a valid possibility?" Eric wanted to know, still with the manliest of catches to his voice. Kharis, ashamed, could only shake his head 

"No, I just...from the looks of the bed, I made a...a fuss."

"You looked like an extra on a possession movie."

"Fair...I've been told similar before." He fell silent, but Eric wasn't eager to fill the gap with words. He was too frazzled for that, having just seen his husband attempt to summon Lucifer or some shit.

Upon realizing his wife was both expecting and deserving of an explanation, Kharis leaned a little further forward, to put his knees astride his wifes.

"It's just nightmares, Eric" he cooed, steadying himself with deep breaths. "They...happen. less often now than they use to-"

"How often?"

"...maybe once or twice a month if I'm stressed. Well. One's that bad at least...I'm sorry, Eric, I'm so sorry I scared you, I just...they...I've had them since I got back, a lot of us do, from the war."

"And you didn't think it important to mention this to your fucking bride?!"

The accusation, valid as it may be, hung heavy in the air between them, and despite his scare induced anger, Eric immediately wished to rewind that and collect his words back. However, Kharis didn't seem to be mad. Hurt, yes, which may have been worse, but not mad.

"I should have, you deserve to know, you're right, " said his husband with all the contrition of a sinner at the altar. "I was ashamed, and I meant to tell you eventually, soon even...but soon always seemed to be tomorrow."

Eric chewed anxiously on his bottom lip, still running on panic and adrenaline, though it was slowly starting to ease from his system. Before him knelt the man he married, the man he promised his heart and body to, looking ashen and clammy and so damned frightened. Jesus Christ…

"Kharis?" He said softly, wanting to reach out for him but finding his body unwilling. "Kharis, what the hell happened to you over there?"

Kharis's hands curled on themselves, fists gripping the track pants he wore to bed tight enough to pale out his knuckles.

"Don't ask me that, Eric" He all but begged. "Please, there's some shit you really don't need to know, ok?"

Eric appraised him, feeling more than a little uncomfortable seeing his small tank of a husband about to break down crying.

"Ok ...yeah, course Kharis, 'msorry-"

"Don't want you getting nightmares too, right?" He interrupted, with far too fake a chuckle covering up his fear, but Eric played along, smiling softly.

"Ok," he finally declared, clapping his palms to his thighs as he pushed himself to standing. "Come on, yjen. Neither of us is gonna get back to sleep soon, so how about I make us pancakes?"

Kharis inked his coal eyes slowly up at his little Carrier, but finally nodded affirmingly and got to his feet, letting Eric tale his hand as he lead them to the kitchen.

"I used the last of the mix this morning for breakfast," he warned, but Eric made the most offended noise possible, sitting Kharis down at the bar as he searched through the fridge for milk and eggs.

"Please, Khakis, some of us can actually cook. Now hush up and put on some music for us."

Kharis nodded quietly, obeying his Carrier as Eric cracked several eggs into a bowl. Ok. Midnight pancakes after a PTSD freakout. He could handle this.


	37. The Last Warm Days

After what could better be called a nap more than proper night sleep, Kharis woke Monday morning for work, and called home around 9 as he often did with a coffee and a bun, checking in on Eric. Kharis didn't mention anything about the night before, and Eric didn't ask. That wasn't to say he wasn't desperately curious, but he'd only been married to the man, like, 16 days so really wasn't up for pushing any boundaries yet, regardless of his friends advice. Instead, he wished him a good day, told him he loved him, and promised lasagna for dinner, cinnamon rice pudding for dessert.. Sure it would take most of his afternoon to make but Eric had nothing but time to spend these days and he figured after last night they both deserved carbs. 

Eric wasn't angry at Kharis for not telling him about his nightmares before they got married. Well, not very angry at least. Shit, he should have guessed as much, even...Mostly he'd been frightened, and acting brash from that fear but who could blame him? He was a teenage Carrier, still in his first year after the change but plenty educated on the matter, with a man twice his size screaming and flailing about in the dark of night. For a heartbreaking moment Eric had feared that this was it, the end of the illusion and his baptism into what a proper Carrier marriage was suppose to be. Domineering, overbearing, showing him his place...even now in the daylight, trying to set up Owen's sewing machine in a space bedroom, cheery sunshine pouring in, he couldn't help but feel a twist in his chest at the memory. So he did what any self preserving Carrier does when faced with stress outside his control and he shoved that shit right down to focus on his battle with this god damned Bernina.

Owen was the one among their trio with any real talents in the home making department, aside from all three able to cook well enough to keep themselves and their husbands alive. Sewing, crochet, decorating, Owen had an artistic eye that Eric had to envy. But currently Owen had his hands very full with a fat, babbling newborn, and had agreed to lend Eric his machine with little care, as well as a trash bag full of fabric scraps from some of his less successful projects. Well. 7 months of sewing classes and Eric felt he had at least some vague idea what he was doing. Eager to be industrious and busy, Eric put music on the speakers and upended the trash bag, letting down a cascade of denim, linen, silks and cottons. Well thank God he hadnt had to go to Taylor for supplies; a lime green and electric carrot quilt probably wouldn't go well with Kharis's heavy black and white minimalist furniture.

So Eric spent his morning seeing what he could recall from all those hours in home ec classes, hours he use to spend in algebra or gym class. Needle, peddle, feed dogs, bobbin, it came back to him slowly as he picked out pieces of grey and red and burgundy, a few bits from torn shirts, some from skirts Owen had attempted that ended up uneven or too small. It was slow going, and by noon, Eric held before him what looked more like a table runner than the queen sized quilt he was attempting to start.

"...I'm gonna need more fabric," He sighed, lowering the stitching to his lap as he surveyed the shrinking pile of material next to his chair. Back aching, ankle cramping- nobody at the CEC ever bothered to tell him being a housewife was /hard!/ So he took a break, calling his brother between classes, then started on the lasagna, knowing that even after working on the dozen layers of pasta and vegetables and sauce and cheese it would need a good hour and a half to bake...funny. This sort of thing, preparing a meal for his tiny family, looking forward to the smell of garlic and baking herbs, a sewing project in the spare room, he could enjoy this so much more if it weren't for the ever lingering knowledge that all this was chosen for him. No matter what Dove or Owen or Taylor told him, it was hard to shake the shame he felt any time he tries to lose himself in the small pleasures of his new life. It was getting easier though, just a little. Some days he figured, the powers that be didn't give a shit if their breeding stock was happy or not, so he might as well be fucking ecstatic. Dr. Sworensen had taught him something almost similar, a method to get him through the panic, ways to breathe and center himself and be reminded that within the walls of his own home, he didn't have to be just another submissive Carrier. He could just be Eric.

Well. Eric liked to cook, damn it, and his husband worked all damn day so there wasn't a single fucking reason he shouldn't at least enjoy it while he cooked.

By 4:45, he had approximately two pounds of Italian food slow roasting in the oven, a sewing project about 1/15 of the way done, rice boiling away happily on the stove for pudding and some small sense of accomplishment. Still, he was glad to hear Kharis's boots on the porch steps, tapping the concrete to dislodge the mud and dirt from their soles before letting himself in.

"'Lo, Eric," he called, his voice a tenuous balance of exhausted and relieved to be home. Just up from his sewing machine again, Eric clicked the door closed behind him, stepping lightly over the new, plush carpeting and slipping easily into Khariss arms. 

"Welcome home."

"God damn finally," he groaned, kissing the top of Eric's head. "Smells wonderful, darling, spaghetti?"

"Lasagna," Eric corrected, having steady rid Kharis his supper plans, grinning as Kharis let out a sound not unlike when Eric would crawl onto his lap at night to be kissed.

"You spoil me," his husband insisted, letting Eric take his cap as he eagerly shrugged out of his stiff, heavy jacket. "Ready soon? I'm starving. Mulligan hasn't learned a god damned thing since he started and I spent my lunch making phone calls he's obviously too stupid to-"

"It'll be out of the oven in 5, but it needs to cool," Eric cut him off, having learned already that Kharis could go on and on about the cadet assigned to be his secretary. 

Kharis sighed appreciably, stroking a hand down Eric's cheek.

"Perfect, gives me time for a shower. Fucking winter can't come fast enough. We can fucking beam signals into space but can't design a uniform that doesn't bake a man from April to October I fucking swear to God-"

Eric noticed that Kharis knew how to cuss up a damn storm for someone so prim and reserved most of the time. Fucking fine by him. Honestly it was funny, being out with him to nice restaurants or at the CEC or anywhere that didn't involve screaming at cadets and knowing how many moments Kharis would absolutely chew someone out if he could. His prenup warnings had rang true, Kharis was indeed a man of high standards.

The pair ate supper, with Kharis giving a very animated retelling of just what Mulligan had done that day to earn his bosses ire, and Eric chiming in his opinions on just how this box of rocks had managed to end up in such a position. There's was nothing like bonding with someone over complaining about someone else.

As evening fell, leftovers put away and kitchen as clean as Eric could bother, they took a pitcher of lemonade into their backyard, enjoying one of the last hot nights of the year. Their yard was sparse still, young trees just about as tall as Kharis, concrete slab new and white. It was clean and vivid but not so homey yet.

"...we should start a garden on the spring," Eric mimicked Dove's idea as he slipped next to his husband on the cushioned swing, tucking one leg below him as the other dangled down to swish the grass. "Along the back fence maybe, petunias or marigolds or irises?"

Kharis poured them each a glass, surveying their little square of nature.

"I'm afraid I don't know much at all about gardening," he admitted, "but if you'd like to give it a try, I'll turn over a patch of soil for you come March."

Eric beamed. "My dad knows how! We've always had pots of petunias, and lilac bushes too. I'm sure he would give us a cutting to start one!"

Kharis took a long pull from his glass and gave his bride a wry, withering smile.

"So a nice long weekend with your dad huh? Sounds delightful."

"Dad will get use to you," Eric dismissed easily, though he couldn't resist poking fun. "Besides, he still wants to come over soon for a cook out, him and Daniel, and you wouldn't deny your bride time with his family would you?"

"May I never be guilty of denying you anything that makes you happy, Eric" he surrendered with a sigh, running his arm along the back of the bench to make room for Eric to slip in closer.

"Even if it involves having everything about you judged unfairly by my dad?"

"...even if," he asserted, letting his arm curl around Eric's shoulders. "I might not ever win your dad over but keeping you from him does none of us any good. He's my family now as well as yours, afterall."

Eric hummed softly, taking sips of tart lemonade. 2 doors down on their quiet street Eric heard a mom calling after his toddler, who was, as toddlers are wont to do, apparently getting into something he wasn't supposed to. How disgustingly suburban, thought Eric, having grown up on a dead end dirt road next to oil drums and machine shops, having instant noodles 2 nights a week for lack of other food. Dove's voice was always so clear in his head at these times; if marriage and motherhood was the ransom to escape poverty, shit could be worse. He nuzzled in closer to his husband, who seemed more than eager to hold his Carrier close.

"Love you, Eric."

"...love you too, Ris...so much." Eric whispered back, slipping his other leg up into the swing, letting his knee cross over into Kharis's lap. Obviously pleased with this, Kharis laid his warm palm on Eric's thigh, bringing him just a little closer. Good, Eric appreciated this invitation, and sat his glass down onto the concrete below. Hands now free, he curled himself over onto his favorite spot, sitting astride Khariss lap, putting on his best pout to be held and indulged.

"You lonely all of a sudden?" Asked Kharis, sitting his own glass down on a patio table at his side, his hand cold through the thin material of Eric's shorts. Shivering once, Eric pressed closer to his husband, letting his hand slide up to the small of his back.

"Hm. Just miss you all day," he whispered, using flirtation to half-mask a confession. "You're gone for like 13 hours, it gets lonely without you, and I'm not used to having so much room in such a big house..."

Kharis slipped his hand under Eric's shirt, touching skin to skin, but kept his wandering still as he appraised his wife, seeming to weigh his options.

"I know darling, I don't like to be away from you so long either," he mourned. "But my position can only be negotiated so far."

"No, I know," Eric assured him quickly, shaking his head. "I'm not trying to guilt you or ask you to take a demotion or anything. Promise. I just...miss you."

Kharis's dark eyes softened further, and he stroked his hand in slow circles to Eric's back.

"Well, come January, you'll have classes to keep you busy," he held up as consolation, and Eric nodded eagerly, never having expected to miss school so bad. "And if you're so lonely during the day perhaps we can talk about bringing home a new member of the family -"

"Its been 2 week, Page, I aint-!" Eric began, ready to launch his usual campaign against young motherhood, but Kharis held a finger to his lips. 

"I mean adopting a cat, Eric," he chided his inpatient wife, and Eric perked up immediately.

"Really??"

"Well sure," Kharis nodded. "We talked about pets while we were dating, we've got plenty of room. We could start looking around shelters, bring home someone who needs a new home, hm?"

Eric beamed, throwing his arms around Kharis's neck.

"I would love that," he breathed, all but wiggling, not caring how childish his reaction might be. "Maybe we can find a black cat? I've always loved those, or a tuxedo-"

"I'm sure we'll come home with a perfect new companion," Kharis laughed, entertained as ever by his young wife's vibrancy. "We can start looking Saturday hm? After we've finally moved out the rest of my shit."

"Really??"

"If you behave," he added cheekily, breaking into a broad grin as Eric smacked at him playfully.

"Jerk."

"Is that the thanks I get?" He said, trying to sound hurt but failing thanks to the bubbling laughter.

Remembering some semblance of manners, Eric threw his arms around him again. "Thank you, Kharis," he said as he drew back, and his husband nodded, almost satisfied, but Eric was growing to recognize that particular smile his husband wore.

"Are you pleased, darling?" He asked, and Eric, already sure where this was going, nodded sweetly.

"Then kiss me."

Even married, even eager, even expecting that, Eric blushed all the same, glancing away shyly but doing as he was told, easing forward to lay his lips softly to his husbands. Such passing touches didn't seem to be enough for the general, though, as he grabbed a fistful of Eric's shirt, pulling them chest to chest as he bit eagerly at Eric's lower lip. Not one to submit easily, Eric bit back, harder, feeling a small rush of success as Kharis nearly growled at him for it.

"Brat," he accused.

"Guilty."

Kharis grabbed him again, circling his arms tight like he knew Eric adored, and tool another kiss, the deep, demanding sort that stole Eric's breath and stumbled his heart, the sort of slow but insistent kiss that got his belly warm and his body interested.

"Khaaa-riiis," he whined over sulking, kiss-swollen lips, "stop making me look like a slut, people can see!"

"Oh Eric dont fuss so," his husband implored. "The fence is 7 feet tall, and nobody lives to the east of us anyway. Nobody would see. Besides, what sort of scandal would it be to see a man and his Carrier sitting alone on a bench?"

Eric scowled. "This is hardly innocent courtship sitting," he argued, and Kharis raised his brows, nodding along.

"Indeed, and we are not innocently courting, are we? In our own home or walking with you about town, it's not like people don't know what we get up to, hm? As pretty as you are, who could blame me for wanting to ravish you?"

"Oho, an exibitiobist, Kharis?" Eric asked, weighing the thrill and terror of such a concept, but Kharis just clicked his tongue.

"Not in the base sense of the word, no, but I would be lying to say I didn't love having you on my arm, Eric," he said, laying kisses bow to Eric's jaw, and the boy found his head naturally tipping back. "A ring on your finger on a general's arm, any Carrier would be as jealous of you as any officer is jealous of me. Maybe I won't take you out here in the open air, but someday, some months from now, you'll be quite round and it won't be a guess to anyone what sort of things we get up to."

"Kharis!" Eric hissed through grit teeth, his face flushing deeply. "What The Fuck is it with you old men and getting off on that-"

"Well you aren't exactly soft right now, Eric."

Shamefully, Kharis was right, and seemed delighted by Eric's blush. 

"Shut up," he whined, but pressed down against Khariss belly all the same, gasping slightly at the pleasant friction between his thighs. "I'm 18 and you're hot, you could read a restaurant menu to me and get me wet."

"Hm. While I'm usually up for a challenge I think there are far more interesting things I could whisper to get you begging."

And, immediately making good on his promise, he hooked a finger beneath Eric's chin, tipping his head aside so he could come closer, murmuring filth in Eric's ear, elaborating on a half confessed fantasy of things to do on the living room floor.

As soon as Kharis pulled back to gauge his face, Eric nodded, eager and willing, and laughed as Kharis stood, hoisting him over one shoulder, not entirely unlike the cover of one of those trash novels. Eric was ok with that.

)))(((

A year ago Dove was sure there would never be a time he would be thrilled to find blood between his legs, but here he was, thanking the gods for his period. He'd accepted the inevitability of children but that didn't mean he couldn't hold out hope for another month. So instead of picking out baby names he spent his afternoon curled on the sofa with a heating pad to his stomach and a bottle of lime soda; he was always nauseous the first day. He put some drama on tv, some remaking of Pride and Prejudice or some other Regency shit for their new world, and let his eyes slip closed. Dinner was in the crock pot, it was fine, he could nap a bit...

He must have drifted off deeper than he'd thought because next he knew the shadows had retreated, the living room filled with evening sunlight, drifting into the kitchen and making his redheaded husbands hair shine amber.

"Mornin," he called, lifting the lid off the crock pot to dole out two bowls. "I thought about waking you when I got home, but you looked exhausted. Hard day?"

"Period," he slurred groggily, sitting up to rub at his eyes. 

"Ah," Kyle replied mildly, trying to be a tactful and mature husband, but Dove knew he didn't wanna press the issue. Any evidence of the change that didn't benefit men made them uncomfortable. Whatever, Dove was too achey to care.

"For me?" He asked, feeling dumb the moment the query left his mouth. Kyle was literally handing him a bowl of potato soup.

"Naw, I'm eating both, just figured you could hold it for me."

"Smartass," but he thanked him all the same and drug his ass up to share the couch. They mostly ate in silence, Dove still sleepy, but their silences were becoming...not yet comfortable, but at least less awkward. They'd been married for about a month now, and had reached a point where they didn't need to force conversation into every lul and quiet moment. Instead, Dove finished his bowl, laid it on the floor for later, and slid down the couch to lay his head on Kyle's lap. He might not always know what to say to this man who married him, who owned him, but he was comfortable, and he was always warm. In bed each night he teased that he couldn't wait till winter, what with Kyle as his own personal space heater. Considering Dove always had cold toes even in the fall, this was nothing short of a threat, and he delighted in the fear across Kyle's face.

Somehow, be it through apathy or a lack of anything better to do, the pair slowly got sucked into the mellowdrama on tv,, becoming quite invested in whether Wiliam was gonna find out that his Carrier wife was pregnant with his brothers baby and not his own. 

"Honestly Williams a piece of shit, Emille should leave his ass," Kyle surmised, and Dove agreed. 

"His brothers hotter anyway," he said, and the two filled a commercial break ranking the men from most to least fuckable, finding out on the process that Kyle just really liked blondes.

"How does this surprise you? You're blonde, Eric's blonde, I like blondes!"

"It's just funny how basic bitch that is," Dove chuckled, shaking his head and trying to squirm into some semblance of a comfortable position. His heating pad had gotten too hot and uncomfortable, but it was doing his cramps no favors.

Wordless, Dove felt Kyle's hand run down from his arm to his hip, then to his lower back stroking the back of his fingers over Doves warm skin. It was awkward at first, as most of their touch still was, but Dove let himself relax into it, nuzzling onto Kyle's thigh to let him know the efforts were appreciated. After a few moments, taken by a whim of boldness he rarely felt alone with his new husband, Dove reached for Kyles hand and guided it forward over his lower belly.

"Could you, uh...here?" He asked, hating how a year at the CEC had softened his voice and dulled his words. Dovine, once so able to demand what he wanted and not give a shit about the judgement of others, now fearing rejection for something so small as to ask for a little care-

"Sure, babe, course," Kyle whispered, breaking Dove from his little self pity fit. It felt good, having his warm hand over his skin, rubbing smooth circles with his palm and trying to not to slip top low. He obviously wanted to show he could keep himself G rated and help his wife. Slowly, the stiffness in Dove's shoulders and back eased, and his attention for the show waned. Heavy eyes, too fucking heavy, and though it was still light out He entertained the idea of sleep. Fucking hormones took everything out of him, a body that still protested this entire fiasco, and he allowed himself just this moment of weakness around his husband. 

He knew he was falling asleep, and welcomed it, though he didn't expect to go so far out as to only wake, past dark, tucked in to his own bed. The story was clear, his now snoring captain had carried him to their room, and slipped him between the sheets, and Dove smiled in the dark. Not even his own dad had ever done that for him.


	38. Obediance

"Amber I swear to God I'm gonna kick your ass you fucking cheater!"

"I'm not cheating I'm just better than you! Besides how can I cheat on a fucking racing game?"

"I dunno, same way you cheated yourself to a level three in a month?"

"I didn't fuck the console, Dove."

Friday night socials at Stillwater were still a riot of arguments, thrown food, hormonal Carriers and contraband alcohol. All 12 boys currently enrolled, as well as Eric, Dove, Miguel and another former inmate whose name escaped Eric crowded into the commons room, cheering on a racing game older than Owen's husband. It was good fun though, a chance to be back among men like himself, and let Kharis go to bed ungodly early guilt free for a night. Poor fucker needed it.

The crowd was mostly the same as it had been 2 weeks ago when Eric left, save for Tomas, who was staying with his fiance till the baby was born. Amber was flouncing around like a princess as ever, already having a steady boyfriend. A Colonel, who he was stupidly proud of, and snotty as Amber was, Eric had taken to dropping his own husbands rank around him in conversation whenever possible. He didn't hate Amber or even really dislike him, he just thought he was snobby and could use his ego toned down a bit.

"Come on, Dove, you gonna let Miss Priss beat you?" Asked Zion from his nest on the couch. Still slow and sluggish from his most recent stay in psych and another adjustment to his meds, Zion looked like he'd seen better days. Still better than Dove on his wedding day though, Perry asserted, since that seemed to now be a unit of measurement. Zion looked pale, like he hadn't seen much sun lately, and really didn't have the coordination to get up off the couch too often, but his roommate kept close tabs on him, pushing water and sports drinks on him like it was his job. Sitting on the floor in front of him, Eric was itching to ask about his latest escape attempt, and his theories, but Mitchel didn't raise no bitch and he knew to hold his tongue. Instead, he just kept a steady supply of popcorn within Zion's reach; starches were about all he could keep down.

A whooping holler indicated that Dove had won the round, and suddenly the whole thing was so "juvenile" to Amber, a word Eric rarely heard from the mouth of anyone over the age of 14. Which, these days, was nobody. He skulked over to a corner of the couch as Perry took his turn against the reigning champion. 

"So how's married life?" Asked Cedric, who couldn't stop fidgeting with the pretty new diamond ring on his finger.

Eric shrugged, popping another salty kernel into his mouth. "Ok...I like Kharis, and it's nice not having to be around you s all the time, but honestly it's just boring most of the day."

"Bitch, I've seen your husband, how can you be bored with that in your bed?" Snit Collin, who made no secret about the fact that he would absolutely get with the general should the opportunity arise.

"Well obviously evenings aren't the boring part, duh," dismissed Eric. "But he works, like, 500 hours a week so I don't see much of him."

"Is he still gonna let you take classes?" Asked Perry over his shoulder, paying for his lapse in attention with a fireball to his cart.

Eric nodded. "Totally, but I pretty much have to retake my whole senior year in condensed version since it's been so long since I changed,, and that isn't offered again till January, so I'll start then."

Down at the end of the couch, Amber made a very unimpressed noise.

"Kid, you'll be pregnant by then," he asserted, with such ease and conviction that, even knowing better, it set Eric's nerves on edge.

"No I won't," he replied, "that's only three months away, and we're waiting till at least summer to try for a baby."

Amber seemed unimpressed by his arguments, waving a hand lazily between them.

"You're married to a /general/" he said, with as much sass as he could put into that one word, rubbing it back in Eric's face. "The cream of the crop as far as this bass ackwards state goes, you really think there isn't gonna be pressure on him to breed his wife right away?"

"Like there isn't already pressure on all us to have honeymoon babies? Besides, we're using condoms."

Amber's eyes narrowed, painted lips curled into a knowing smirk as he said, "condoms break, you know. He could be poking holes in them."

"Can it, Amber," growled Dovine, the multi talented Carrier able to bitch someone out while still crossing the finish line ahead of Perry, who swore colorfully and leaned back to drown his sorrows in popcorn. "Just cause you can't wait to throw yourself at the first rich asshole who says hello doesn't mean we're all desperate and in shitty marriages."

Amber didn't strike Eric as the kind to take criticism well, and Dove wasn't exactly the most gentle handed person in the room.

"Scuse me, Miller, nobody fucking asked you."

"You're fucking around with Eric then you're fucking around with me," he shrugged, selecting his go kart for the next round, and Amber didn't appear to like how Dove refused to engage in a full on bitchfest.

"Whatever. You guys keep living in your little fantasies, then, just don't come crying to me when you're on baby 3 in 3 years and your husbands start sleeping around on you."

"You mean like you're gonna do to your future husband?"

Oh, Amber looked ready to snap necks, sitting straight up, and the rear of the room was all ears. Carriers were, after all, a very bored lot always looking for drama.

"You calling me a slut, Miller?"

"It's not a lie, you just admitted to sucking cock to get rank. Probably how you pulled Captain back in your military days. So who's was it, Amber, Dr. Sworensen? I'd tap that."

"Course you would, I've seen your ginger husband, you've got low standards," he snit, and Eric swore he could hear Dove growl over the music of the game. "Naw, fuck that, I went straight for Captain Jameson. Suck his dick and you get anything you want, but I guess he's got standards when it comes to the Carriers he'll take-"

The entire fucking room exploded all at once, and Eric could expect no other outcome to such a statement. Dove, despite being across the room from Amber, seemed to be the first one on him, and Eric didn't know if the three Carriers on his heels were there to join in the ass whooping or to try and get a hold of Dove. Eric hoped it was the second; he didn't know whether or not the courts would try a Carrier for murder and he didn't want to find out.

"You piece of shit, you don't know what the fuck you're talking about!" Dove cried, grabbing Amber by the collar of his blouse and hauling him off the couch into the carpet, a heavy thud as he landed hip first. "Take it back!"

"Get off me you psycho!" Shouted Amber, crying out as Dove got a fistful of his short hair. He pulled his left arm back, ready to swing, and that's when Eric knew he couldn't just let this shit fly, and he sprang to Dove's side, grabbing hold of both shoulders.

"He isn't worth it, Dove," he tried to call over the shouting of a dozen freaked out Carriers, but all he got for his trouble was Dove dislodged, floored, and Amber trampling over them both as he ran for the door. Perry tried to run his own interception, obviously wanting a piece of this action, and nearly yanked Ambers arm off trying to claw at him. By this point it was every man for himself, save for the two tattletales who had already ran off to find a man to solve their problems, and Zion who honestly didn't have the strength to properly join this fight.

"Let me go!"

"Apologize you fucker!"

"You're all out of your damn minds-"

"/Carriers!/"

Captain Jameson's voice could cut through any riot, and the entire room grew instantly frozen, Amber on the floor, Dove and Perry with red knuckles, Eric trying to hold Dove back and a half dozen others just still.

"What in God's name is going on here?!" Their caretaker demanded, and, naturally, nobody wanted to offer an explanation. Even Amber was too busy cowering to want to blab yet.

Jameson's boots seemed to echo through the room, despite the soft carpeting, and every Carrier struggled to right themselves, especially those in the midst of the fray. To those young men, it was like the executioner striding through the jail.

"Williams, Miller, Page, Freeman, care to explain what the hell you were doing to Mr. Nyland?"

Everyone shook their heads, or did nothing at all, and nobody spoke. Dove kept his eyes trained down, and Eric could see tears starting to well and stream down his face.

"I see. Well, then, you gentleman can sit tight," he said to the resident Carriers who had been clearly across the room, and Instead focused on the foremost group, "and you lot will be coming with me. Looks like I have phone calls to make."

So Eric found himself sitting in the waiting area outside medical, as three husbands and two fiances were called in to deal with their wayward Carriers. Kyle was first, and Dove dissolved into sick cries as Jameson detailed that he'd been found assaulting another Carrier and he needed to arrive immediately to Deal With Him. Next was Perry's fiance, the husband of the other visiting Carrier, and then, finally, General Page.

"Good evening, sir, terribly sorry to bother you so late. This is Captain Jamrson. I'm afraid there has been an incident with the Carriers- no, Mrs. Page is fine, as far as we can see, though he's waiting for his turn with the doctor...no...no, Sir...excellent," he finished up, turning a cheery grin to Eric, "we will see you soon, General."

Fuck. Everything.

Kyle was the first to show up, t shirt and jeans and looking frazzled, equal measured terrified and angry and Dove couldn't stop crying. Relief flooded Kyle, freckles and all, seeing his wife was more or less unharmed, and he was quick to embrace him.

"Kyle, I'm sorry, I'm so god damn sorry, but Amber is such a bitch and wouldn't shut up and -!"

And Dove wasn't allowed to finish his rant, not in front of Eric, at least, since Jameson lead them both into a side room to talk, the same one where Eric had been informed that he was a level 3 and open to court. Good times.

Kharis was nearly on Kyle's heels, but he strode in, uniform in place, and Eric had to marvel at how fast he must have gotten dressed. Immediately Kharis eyed him up and down, looking for, Eric didn't know, blood and guts? He must have been relieved to find none, closing his eyes to compose himself before turning to Jameson.

The bastard looked so fucking smug, and didn't even bother to salute his general.

"I'm so sorry having to call you on such short notice, General Page," he simpered and at this point Eric was sure he wasn't even trying to hide his delight. "But you'll understand that physical violence between our boys at a CEC is just not tolerated. It's unbecoming behavior for our Carriers, unladylike, not to mention that nearly any one of them could be pregnant at the moment, especially our newlyweds-"

"Is Carrier Williams alright?" Kharis interjected, obviously not ready for s public conversation about his and his wife's sex life.

Jameson nodded curtly, looking down at a file.

"Amber Williams has some bruising and a few gashes but all superficial, won't even scar. Lucky, such a pretty face-"

Before he could creep any further, the door to the exam room opened up, Dr. Kessler asking Eric inside. Shakily, Eric got to his feet, taking the slowest steps he could towards him. Obviously finding this lackluster for his bride, Kharis's hand found the small of his back, urging him on as he followed close behind.

"...oh, General," Jameson interrupted, "I actually would like to speak to you further about the incident while Eric is with-"

"I'll be accompanying my Carrier for his exam, Jameson, your ass can wait," Kharis growled, and Eric wasn't sure if he should be tickled at the snap or terrified of his agitation. Instead he settled for existential crisis as the door closed behind the three, Dr. Kessler rummaging in a cabinet before pulling out a slim pink box.

"Bathroom is straight through there, child, you know what to do?"

...oh jesus christ.

"...I'm not pregnant, " he said, blunt as could be, foisting the box back towards his doctor, but Kessler wouldn't take it.

"I'm sure you know better than any, little one, but it's just protocol anytime I have to do a physical. Just uncap the end, sit down-"

"I know how to pee, thanks!"

"Eric, don't fuss," came his husbands voice, cool and professional but said in a way he only reserved for Carriers. "Do as the doctor asks."

Direct order, in front of another man. Eric did the mental math, bit his lip, and nodded.

"Oka...yes, Kharis," he sighed, slinking into the tiny bathroom. The door, of course, had no lock; couldn't have newly changed boys sneaking in with razor blades. He tore the end of the box open, sliding out the little plastic test and unfurling the direction. Ok, easy, just pee on the end, cap it, wait three minutes. He had seen this a dozen times on their movies and tv shows... And he wasn't pregnant, so it would be fine! They were really accurate, and these days they could tell within 48 hours of conception, but he wasn't pregnant anyway so it was fine. Totally fine…

He really hoped he wasn't pregnant. Not yet. Some...someday yes, but please not yet-!

Fine. This was easy. Sit, pee, cap, finish peeing, wash hands, wait. Just...just wait...was he suppose to wait in here, he wondered, or were they expecting him to come out? ...how long was 3 minutes? He didn't have his phone, he couldn't time...shit.

"Mrs. Page?" Gentle rapping on the bathroom door startled him, but he got his shit together quick.

"...I'm fine," he said through the door. "I'm just...I'm waiting."

"You can wait out here-"

"I'm fine!"

He was so gonna get scolded for his tone, but they let him. He paced, he tapped his fingers, sitting on the lid of the toilet with the rest in his hand, knowing this was just the first of god knows how many. What if it was positive somehow? How long till he started getting morning sickness? How long till he couldn't fit into his clothes anymore? Would Kharis still think he was pretty once he was pregnant? Was it three minutes? Surely it was, so he should...he should look, right? Right.

He flipped the rest over. One blue line- negative. Relief and tension flowed from his body as he opened the door, passing the test off to Kessler.

"Told you I wasn't pregnant."

Kharis's face was a true neutral.

Kessler nodded, jotting the result down in his notes, and told Eric to get undressed.

Eric did so, slowly as he dared, back turned towards both men. It's not like both hadn't seen him naked and become more than familiar with even the most intimate parts of him, but together, it felt like an overwhelming power imbalance, and he stood, awkward and ashamed in his green briefs, arms crossed over his chest in some misplaced sense of modesty. 

"No need to be shy with me, Eric" Kessler said gently, and patted the paper covered table for Eric to sit. Near the door, Kharis stood as though he had a strip of rebar down his spine, eyeing the doctors every movement as he took Eric's pulse, listened to his breathing, checked his eyes for dilation.

"Do you recall hitting your head at all?"

"No, sir."

"Blow to the chest?"

"No, sir. All I did was try to keep Dovine from killing Amber, honest," the young Carrier implored, directed towards his doctor but speaking mostly to Kharis. "Really, I didn't hit anybody or anything -"

"Alright son, I understand, but things can get crazy in a fight, hm? Let me just give you a once over before I send you home."

Close to tears, Eric nodded, the picture of feminine obedience. Kessler felt down his ribcage, checking for fractures, and the same down his spine. Ankles and wrists, fingers to toes.

"Alright, looks like you'll have a couple nice bruises on your legs here, someone must have landed a kick. Just ice it if it becomes swollen, shouldn't be an issue. Other than that just don't go getting into fights. I expect better from you, Eric."

Tears picking his eyes again, Eric nodded, and was allowed to get dressed again, still under his husbands watchful eye, knowing that he was going to have to face Jameson.

Perfect timing, they left the exam room just as Dove was leaving with Kyle, the former red faced from crying as his own husband whispered quietly into his ear, looking fretful and stressed; Jameson had surely read them both the riot act, and Eric could only hope that Kharis's stars could save them from a similar fate.

"General Page, Sir, I am dreadfully disappointed in your little brides behavior tonight."

No such luck. Eric listened to this wildly twisted version of events he must have gotten from Amber, or maybe that had pulled out his own ass to start drama, about Carrier hysterics and cat fighting. Of course he would have no interest in what the incident was truly about, considering he was at the heart of it. Honestly he was zoning all this shit out, not wanting to be here in any way, shape or form, and only perked up when Jameson mentioned discipline. 

"Were Eric still a resident of Stillwater, he would be reprimanded, have privileges revoked and be subject to corporal punishment," he said calm as anything, as though he were not discussing beating a man's wife. "And additional counseling...I see Eric still sees Dr. Sworensen weekly?"

Kharis nodded.

"Its important for Eric to keep an open line with someone with whom he can speak to without fear of repercussion," he said briskly. "As for discipline you will understand that Eric is my Carrier and my property and I will chastise him for this behavior as I see fit."

Property. This was the first time Eric had to hear Kharis refer to him this way, and he struggled so hard to keep the tears in, but he felt his eyes burn all the same. This was fine, this didn't mean Kharis was mad at him or disgusted by him. He balled his fists up in his lap, struggling to breathe around the lump in his throat. They talked about this, it was ok, he said to himself as a mantra. It was ok, just an act, all an act. They had to keep up public decency, so Eric didn't get taken away, so Kharis could keep his job, so they could help others...Eric knew this all in theory, but seeing it in practice was heartbreaking. 

"General, Sir, may I not be guilty of overstepping my bounds here," Jameson said, obviously not pleased about being outranked in his own castle, "but I have a responsibility to my Carriers as well. Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Page are not welcome on property for 2 weeks; I'm afraid it would be far too distressing for Mr. Williams and the others, considering the violent display tonight."

Kharis nodded curtly, abiding by Jamesons verdict, but turned down his offer to let Kharis beat Eric in the spare classroom, Jameson's favorite spot, citing again that he would tend to the issue at home, privately, as a /gentleman/ would.

Well. At least no matter how furious Kharis might be at Eric, there was comfort in knowing he still hated Jameson worse.

Kharis took his bride by the arm, bid Jameson a good night, gave his best to a very shaken Perry coming out of Kessler's office and took Eric past the guards and out the front door to the car. Eric sat staring out the window as he waited for Kharis to get in, close the door and lock them. 

"You did nothing wrong, Eric, and you are not in trouble with me. I hope you understand I won't be taking you home for any marital discipline."

Eric nodded, sniffed, and promptly burst into tears, the darkness of the car in the parking lot giving him some moment of privacy.

It was only a 4 minute drive home, not nearly enough time for Eric to get his shit together, and Kharis all but carried his bride in through the door, engaged the alarm behind them and sank to the floor with Eric in his arms.

"Baby boy, you've got to stop crying now," he said, voice heavy with exhaustion. "You're home and safe with me, and we need to talk-"

"I'm sorry!" Eric burst out immediately, wanting to bury his face in Kharis's chest, but worried about getting snot down the front of his uniform. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get in a fight, but Amber was running his mouth and he said something that really hurt Dove and Dove lost it and I couldn't let Dove just go-!"

"I know, Eric, I understand that, I know you were frightened," Kharis had to raise his voice over the sound of his mates crying, "and you made the best choice you could...perhaps though, should this arise again, running to get assistance might be-"

"I didn't think!" Eric wailed, starting to hiccup as he tried to breathe. "And I was sc...scared, and I'm sorry, I know it looks bad on you-!"

"...Eric, it's not important-"

"But it is!" He argued back, wiping furiously at his face. "I know it is, and now Jamesons gonna tell everyone that your bride is a mess and gets in fights and everyone's gonna think you're a weakling who can't control a fucking teenage Carrier-!"

Eric couldn't go on any more, he was too overwhelmed, too frazzled from the nights events, and he could barely breathe over his crying. At a loss for what to do, it seemed, Kharis to his feet and made his way quickly to the kitchen, coming back moments later with a glass of water and a small white bottle. Uncapping it, he shook one tablet out onto his palm and held it up towards Erics mouth.

"Open," he instructed, but Eric, more afraid than ever, shook his head.

"It's a sedative. It'll help calm you down, you're in a panic attack," he pressed. "They gave them to me for you when we signed papers. Just put it under your tongue, it'll help you relax, and breathe...Eric I'm not trying to drug you to hurt you but you're /scaring me/."

Great, so not only had he publicly shamed his husband but now he was aggravating his PTSD. Fucking perfect. Too tired to fight, too scared to upset Kharis further, he did what they told him to do his whole 7 months at the CEC; he obeyed. He opened his mouth and let Kharis put the little white lozenge under his tongue, where it melted, tasting bitter and like the vague notion of mint.

"There's my good boy," Kharis praised, handing him a tissue for his face, and Eric couldn't pretend the sweet words didn't feel good. "Just sit still for a minute ok? Show me when it's gone."

He did, and Kharis gave him the water to rinse the taste from his mouth, helping to still his shaking hands and hold the glass.

"Slow sips, don't choke," he sighed, curling Eric's hair behind his ears. "Just a little more, ok?"

Within minutes, Eric was feeling the effects of the medication, slowing his heart and his breathing and fogging over his worries, and as he calmed, so too, it seemed, did his husband. Kharis helped him to the bathroom and sat them both on the edge of the tub, wiping Eric's face gently with a cool, wet cloth.

"You're going to be alright Eric, hm? You did what you had to do, and Jameson knows that. He just wants the power trip."

"...he's mean, Kharis," Eric whispered, unable to really raise his voice any higher than that.

Kharis nodded, patting under Eric's swollen eyes. "I know...he's not much different than a lot of young officers. We live in a world that breeds that sort of power trip-"

"I mean, he's really mean, Kharis. He scares us."

Kharis stilled, appraising his wife carefully, and nodded.

"Alright...can you tell me more about that, Eric?"

He shook his head, almost violently, and Kharis had to hold his shoulders to still him.

"Ok, that's fine, you don't have to...but if you ever need to, Eric, I'll listen, ok?"

"Even though I'm a bad wife?"

"....darling you are no such thing," Kharis whispered urgently, stroking down Eric's face.

"But I embarrassed you and ruined everything -"

"Honey you're a newlywed Carrier, to be absolutely blunt they /expect/ you to be a little spitfire brat at first, you're fine. Now how about we get you into something soft and we head to bed, ok? I'm sure you're getting tired now."

He was, the sedative really starting to drag him down. He let his husband carry him to bed, whimpering at the disorientation, and not wanting to let him go as he eased him down.

"Kharis?"

"Yes honey?"

"Am I in trouble?"

"No, honey."

"Is Dove?"

Kharis paused, pulling the blankets up over Erics waist.

"I doubt it, baby. Captain Miller is a smart, level headed man, I'm sure once his wife explains what happened he'll understand."

Eric nodded, slipping to sleep already. 

"I'm sorry, Kharis."

"...just sleep now, Eric."

)))(((

When Eric woke, it was past 11, he had to pee like a motherfucker, and was starving. Unsteady steps took him to the kitchen, where he devoured a bowl of cereal and had another poured before he noticed the note taped to the fridge 

"E,

Rest today. I'll be home at 1:30. Don't worry about supper, we can order out tonight. I love you.

-K"

Eric folded the note up, pressing it to his chest, wishing Kharis was here. Last night was a swirl of guilt and pain and fear, and he kept checking his phone for a message from Dove, nearly dropping it in the sink when one finally came through.

D- eeey.

E- Jesus yer alive??

D- yeah. More or less. Didn't sleep till dawn 

E- Kharis drugged me out. Slept 12 hours

D- but he didn't hit you rite?

E-no...yours?

D-no. But Jameson is telling my shrink. 

E- fun times

Dove wanted more sleep, and Eric promised to call that evening, letting him have his nap, meaning he had an hour to kill in a silent house with a heavy heart. So he wandered into his bedroom, and poked around the bookcase in the corner, looking for the shiny paperbacks the CEC had given him before his wedding, the ones that were supposed to teach him how to behave, how to act proper, how to be a decent, obedient wife. He pulled the thickest one off the bottom shelf, appraising the pretty Carrier bride on the cover.

Alright. If this was what he had to do to keep his husband from getting fired or wanting a divorce, then this was what he'd do, then.


	39. Limits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, chapter warning; this chapter deals with mentions of self harm, the existance of suicide and past child abuse.
> 
> Most of the material Eric is reading is based on actual literature I use to read back when I was part of a way messed up church

Kharis and Eric forwent their previous weekend plans in favor of staying home for a quiet night. Though this disappointed Eric a small bit, it was promised that their excursion was not cancelled, only postponed for a calmer time, which honestly suited Eric and his electrified nerves just fine. Kharis was exhausted from being up far later than usual and whatever pill he gave Eric the night before still tugged at the small boys body, leaving him lethargic and somewhat dim in mind. There may have been guilt on Kharis's face as he took in Eric's sleepy eyes, but he couldn't be sure. The couple napped away the warm afternoon in bed, barely clothed or covered so as to not overheat while trying to cuddle. Eric couldn't stand for Kharis to be to far away right now, and his husband indulged him. Much to Eric's continued guilt.

Still, the Pages didn't speak of Friday night till Sunday morning over a breakfast of French toast and strawberries and even then, it seemed, Kharis wanted to keep it short, as effective a major general as ever. He was not angry, not disappointed, only worried about his wife's wellbeing, and he doubted seriously that this incident would have any lasting repercussions on his personal or professional life. Eric should rest easy, he assured him, but run for a man's assistance should this ever occur again. To save face, unless he felt someone was in life threatening danger. Amber's bitchfest probably didn't fall into that category. 

Once upon a time Eric would have balked at merely that suggestion, that wording. Run for a man's help, his ass. He was a man, a sharp minded one, strong...well, for a teenage Carrier he was. But now Eric just nodded, just like those books told him to do when his husband handed down a decision, told Kharis he understood, and soaked up the praise he received for not making an argument of it.

)))(((

Everything in Eric's evolved brain wanted to chuck those damn books in the trash. It felt like intro CEC classes all over again, but mushier, more personal and often religious. But he devoured one after another over the next week while Kharis spent his days at work. Not only did he read them, but he did the whole shebang, digging out highlighters and bookmarks tabs and felt tip pens to write in the margins. If he had been half this diligent in school, he might have gotten into university...before his sex changed and he would have ended up at Stillwater anyway.

/Establishing good habits early in marriage is critical. A new body, a new role, a husband, and a new home all in quick succession primes the mind to rewire itself and there's no better time to reset yourself! Begin a home oriented routine by rising promptly every morning; lying in too late will just make you dull and sluggish through the day./

That sounded sane enough. Eric clicked his pen against his knee and wrote in his best penmanship, "up by 8, have breakfast, good food, not junk. Make the bed; Kharis loves a fresh bed at night"

/Personal grooming is one of your more important responsibilities to your husband. Whether you decide to wear dresses or makeup is not the most important issue here; far more important is that you are clean, pleasant smelling and put together. Even if you are home alone without children to start, putting on clean clothes and pinning back your hair will help you feel purposeful and industrious. Take five minutes before your husband comes home to freshen up, wash your face or touch up your makeup, run a comb through your hair and make sure you're fresh. He'll be delighted to see a happy and content bride waiting for him after a days toil./

Again, with proper context, this could be almost sane and desirable. If it were spelled out as an equal give and take...obviously he wanted to keep himself clean for his own sake, and obviously he appreciated Kharis having a shower after working drills with cadets in the heat all afternoon, but Eric had the feeling that wasn't quite what this book had in mind.

The following page taught him how to manage his hair in the awkward grow out phase, and he tugged his short bangs with a frown. He preferred his hair short. Taylor kept his hair short, and Taylor was the most Carrieresque man he knew, so maybe that was ok? And Kharis liked the boyish, masculine look on him...He could wear some soft headbands or something to make it prettier, maybe get some highlights. He was already blonde, maybe just lemon juice and sunlight could do it...another chapter showed how to tie a natori, those wrap skirts that were becoming the Carrier fashion staple, and how to move comfortably in a dress. Kharis seemed to like him in dresses; he'd bought him several on their honeymoon. Though he had said they were for public display, he seemed appreciative of his brides form in them, and how easy it was to reach up his skirts. Eric surveyed his jeans, and made himself a deal; he could keep his hair short so long as he wore skirts, natori or dresses at least 3 days a week. This, too, he wrote on the edge of the paper and marked the Page with a purple tab.

/Older Carriers may be used to playing the dominant role in bed from their lives, or at least switching around; this is absolutely inappropriate in a Carriers marriage. Not only is it emasculating to your husband, but it's a waste of bonding time. Sex is unifying, and should uphold your given roles. The marriage bed is a microcosm of society, and trying to dominate your husband upsets this balance. Intercourse should bring about love, pleasure, and children, not hedonism or pride./

This trade blended in to a whole chapter about service, duty and treason; a Carrier who refused sex with their husbands indefinitely, used illegal home methods of birth control, or attempted to procure an abortion were, in plain terms, criminals to the Union, same as a soldier going AWOL.

His stomach churned, making him regret that nice, early, healthy breakfast he ate. Sipping his lemonade, he willed his nerves to calm. This was good. This was ok. This was what a Carrier was suppose to /be/. Pretty, modest, cheerful, giving, sexy, uplifting...what was that term from the Bible...a helpmeet, right. An assistant to his husband, the wife of a general, a mother to the new world.

/Young Carriers face a different challenge than their older brothers; based on the culture at the time of writing this, your husband is likely to be 15-25 years older than you, and bridging this gap can feel intimidating.-/

Legit, sure.

/especially if your husband remembers the war, plague, or had a wife and family in his life before. Open communication is the key for every relationship, but it's of even more importance for you, as the words you use may mean something entirely different to your husband and vice versa. Additionally, more than any other "generation gap" before, the two to you are truly from different worlds. You both have a deep responsibility to try and understand the hardships of each others lives; your husband having lived through the wars and the plague, and you growing up in a world that seemed to end before changing in a way we are still struggling to understand./

...ok this. Could be worse. He highlighted that passage and wrote, "research PTSD/ talk to Kharis about feeling left out with all the older men and Carriers on base." Even writing that down felt both freeing and transgressive.

/Having an older husband is a good balance for you younger Carriers though, and has its own blessings. Two men starting life in their twenties for the first time are prone to childish mistakes that your husband will spare you from, should you be open and obedient. Allow his years of single life and household management to help you gain footing in your first home away from your father./

Better than being a soldier, he thought to himself with a shudder, thinking back to the day he and Dove brought sweets for their husbands. Those men doing drills, shorn hair and identical camo, being screamed at, heading towards service and dead end jobs...this was better. Owen knew it, Daisuke knew it, and now Eric just had to keep reminding himself of that. If he could ensure his husband didn't hate him, this was better.

/Yours is a blessed life that very few will ever experience. We have our own hardships to face, but what we gain can more than make up for it with an open, loving heart. Learn to love your new body, your new role and your new relationships and you will surely find happiness in marriage and motherhood./

...Eric wanted that. Sure, it was sappy propaganda made to help ex officers be more accepting of their arranged marriages, but he wanted that peace and acceptance. Kharis was a good man who could provide a better life for him than he could have ever dreamed up growing up as an Endgame Child. A comfortable home, plentiful food, a husband who seemed to adore him, the knowledge that no matter what happened in the world, he would never see the front lines or combat. His future held home and children, but also the offer of school, a luxury among Carriers. Eric longed to find happiness in this life, he wanted to curl into this and accept this. Fighting was too tiring, it took so much energy to wake up every day and have to fight the system and refuse to be happy when, in Carrier terms, he lucked out, and he knew this.

Now it just came to accepting it.

)))(((

Routine became a comforting thing for Eric as he settled into the rhythms of marriage. Kharis left home before dawn and came home around 6 every night, and Eric tried to make sure there was always dinner ready or at least near it. They spent their evenings walking through the residential streets, curled in the swing in their backyard, making love in the cool, dim light of their bedroom or, occasionally, visiting. Kharis was not the most social of creatures, but Eric was, and being banned from the CEC for two weeks just made Eric long for company all the more. So they had finally arranged the cookout with Mitchel and Daniel, Kharis putting up his most charming and valiant side for his in laws. And, all in all, it had been nice; Eric was at least 75% sure the burn Kharis had received on the hand from Michels tongues was accidental and probably wouldn't scar. They had eaten burgers and brats and corn on the cob and fruit salad, and Eric had struggled heartily to find the balance between Eric McDaugh, Endgame Child, the son of a welder, accustomed to dirty bare feet and yelling over dinner, and Eric Page, Carrier wife of a major general in a linen jumper dress trying to be a sweet hostess and good example of his new gender. So he settled for just plain Eric, the young man who knew what he had to do to survive, and everybody seemed to deal just fine with that. 

He also had a chance during his probation to spend a day with his brother in law, which was a rarity. Unlike the Demuirs or the Millers, the other Pages were not a military family, not by the husbands side at least, not the aide that kept rank, and thus lived off base and was unreachable by Eric for most of the time. So Kharis had dropped him off for lunch one day when he had a postponed meeting, and planned to meet back at Jamal's place for a family supper that night. 

"Here you go Jun, you want to see Aunt Eric don't you?" Daisuke said with a bit of soft laughter, handing his infant over to his brother in law. Instinctively Eric wanted to balk, afraid of the baby, afraid of the responsibility of holding him, but all it took was remembering the pain in Kharis's eyes the night he picked him up from the CEC to calm that. Carriers, all the books said, were literally made for motherhood. Kharis loved seeing him holding babies, and surely there was no better way to impress Kharis's old man superiors than being eager for children and pleasing his husband? That's how it worked, right?

So he balanced Jun in his arms, still too little to sit properly on his hip, and wondered how it would feel some day with his own baby in his arms. He couldn't think on that too long though. It was a big leap from wearing natori on the daily to bearing his husband a son, though it was a thought that circled his brain more and more since his marriage.

An afternoon with Daisuke was nice, though. Dove was still grappling with his marriage, and Owen was a hormonal post partum mess; Daisuke was right in the middle, content in his marriage without going off the deep end like Amber. His baby was old enough for Daisuke to be adjusted and calm but still little enough to need the sort of care that scared Eric most. He helped his brother in law change diapers and wash little hands, redress after a spit up and play on his belly on the floor. Daisuke was family, close enough to overstate but still new enough contest waters. He admired Daisuke's quiet dignity as he gathered a blanket and pillow set his baby to nurse, answering Eric's shy, mumbled questions about how it felt, if it hurt, if the baby bit, how it...how it felt to actually start to develop while pregnant.

Daisuke might have been expecting his new family member to interrogate him, or maybe Jamal or Kharis had prepared him, or maybe he had gone through such a phase himself, seeking out another older Carrier to help him. Whatever the case he seemed to take the attention in stride, and didn't even blush; Eric did enough for the both of them.

"And what did...did ah...Jamal think when you got pregnant and, like, round? And got...those?"

Daisuke adjusted his hold on Jun, patting his little diaper coveted butt.

"...I mean you gotta remember, Eric, our husbands were already adults in a world with women," he started carefully. "I was only, like, 11, but Kharis was 18 and Jamal was in his mid twenties. So they're use to seeing pregnant women-"

"But were not women," Eric put in, feeling obligated to interject this, though the impulse seemed more and more forced each time.

"We arent, that's right. We are Carriers, but Carriers get pregnant, and we have babies, and our bodies change to accommodate that...and our husbands are familiar enough with that, so if Kharis is anything like Jamal-"

"Jamal liked you growing breasts about as much as you liked being spanked didn't he," he guessed, and Daisuke's snorting laugh was enough of a give away.

"Just don't be surprised if Kharis is very interested when you need a bra."

"Dandy," Eric replied, trying not to stare as Daisuke fed his baby. "And...later? Like, when you got big?"

"Come on Er, you're a big boy," Daisuke said with a raised brow. "I'm sure you didn't reach 18 without coming across any porn."

Eric's mind went immediately to those novels he'd been devouring, full of men all too ready to ravish and breed their new brides and fawn over their bellies.

"Well yeah but porn isn't always real-"

"For this it is," Daisuke said with an impish grin. "Again, if the Page brothers are alike at all he's going to adore you. Besides, you're small you're going to look adorable pregnant."

Daisuke really wasn't all that much taller or broader than Eric, and he asked if he had any pictures of himself pregnant. Sure, he had just gone through Owen and Taylor's pregnancies but he was mostly overtaken with panic too much to really observe. Daisuke pointed him to an album under the coffee table, and Eric slid next to the elder Carrier, opening the album on his lap.

"That's the day I found out I was pregnant," Daisuke narrated the first photo, where Daisuke's face was red from crying but he was smiling. Fear and joy, a typical response, Eric thought, flipped through the pages. An ultrasound that looked like a rorschach test, a first baby outfit, pages of photos with Daisuke standing to the side, shirt pulled up to show his growing belly each week. By 15, he had a noticeable bump. By 20, he was wearing maternity clothes, his entire way of standing and carrying himself staring to change.

"You two look cute," Eric observed, pointing to week 31. 

"Sure, there. By 38 we just look fat and miserable."

Eric flipped and had to disagree. Daisuke was very pretty, carried the extra weight well, and seemed happy to wrap his arms under his belly, holding his baby safe within him.

"...you got some news you wanna share, sweetie?" Daisuke asked softly as Jun finished up, sitting him up over his shoulder to burp him.

Eric shook his head resolutely. "No. They made me take a test just like 5 days ago at the CEC. We use condoms. Not pregnant yet."

Daisuke nodded, knowingly, giving him a small smile.

"In time, Eric...just don't get too ahead of yourself, ok? There's plenty of time for babies. They'll arrive soon enough."

Eric closed the album, busying himself with packing it back underneath the table to hide his discomfort. All his books said it was better to be bred quickly, to have babies sooner, but something in him recoiled at that, and found comfort with another Carrier telling him what he wanted to hear. Eric was learning to be ok with this, but he would still really like more time, to adjust to this, more time getting to know his husband.

Jun, over his mother's shoulder, let out several small burbs, and his mom praised him for hardly spitting up any of his milk. Content and drowsy, Jun was laid into his cradle with a clean diaper and a pacifier, and Daisuke turned a mischievous smile towards Eric.

"So tell me, Mrs. Page, Kharis spank you in bed yet?"

Jesus Christ Eric was surrounded by perverts.

)))(((

Jamal arrived home from the office first, and Eric had to make a conscious effort to stave down his panic instincts to cower from a man, reminding him that this was family, his husbands brother, who greeted him with warmth and hospitality, a kiss to both cheeks.

"Looking beautiful as ever, Eric," he praised. "I'm sure my wife has been nothing but a darling influence for you all day?"

"Taught him to drink tequila," Daisuke said with obvious jest, eager for another kiss from his partner. The air between Daisuke and Jamal was something Eric still could not sort out, something closer than the business arrangement that had been the start to their marriage, but perhaps not yet love. Something that teased it though, a fondness greater than a baseline arranged marriage. As much as it hurt his pride, Eric wondered if he just wasn't yet old enough to understand.

As Jamal changed and showered, the Carriers busied themselves in the kitchen, finishing up the fried salmon and brown rice that was their supper. By 7, Kharis rang their bell, already out of uniform and looking ready to relax.

"My beautiful," he greeted Eric, with a long hug and a quick kiss, Eric still shy around others. "Jamal, good to see you. Did Caleb get ahold of you yet? Bastard thinking of selling Aunt Melinda's house-"

"Of course he would be. He'll regret it, if he's still thinking of taking a wife. That property is the best place to raise kids, I would love for Jun to grow up there'c

"Caleb is their oldest brother," Daisuke supplied to Eric as the Page brothers bemoaned their patriarch. "Met him once. He's alright. Old fashioned though, moreao than Jamal. Way more than Kharis."

Eric struggled to keep his expression neutral as he sat a large bowl of green salad on the table, silently judging his haphazard chop job on the lettuce. Kharis wasn't terribly traditional at all, and he couldn't speak for Jamal, so that was of little comparison. All the same, they left their groaning in the living room, both drawn and soothed by the scent of a good meal and the promise of time with their lovely wives, and chose instead to speak of their plans for a pet, with Daisuke eager to interject his own wish for a puppy.

"Told him if he proved he could take good care of a baby and remember to feed and water it, we could think about a dog," Jamal teased, giving his bride a wink as he helped himself to a roll from the basket, passing it first to Kharis.

"And I've done a fucking good job keeping your kid alive so far," he said with no small amount of both wonder and pride.

Jamal paused, fork about to spear a bite of salad, and tapped his fingers in front of his wife's plate.

"Language, Daisuke. We've talked about this," he said with a calm, even voice, still holding a note of warning. Daisuke turned a very appealing shade of peach, but nodded.

"Sorry, Jamal. But hey, Jun's doing good, so I hope to find a puppy in my Christmas stocking."

"Better heed him, Jamie, he's too cute to say no to," Kharis advised. "Pretty sure if Eric gave me the right look he could get anything he wanted."

"Shut up, Kharis," said Eric, joining his brother in law with the blushing, turning resolutely away as Daisuke and Jamal both chuckled. "Eat your salmon."

Kharis obeyed, still smirking at his young bride, and Eric smiled to himself behind his glass, unable to deny a small bit of pleasure seeing his husband happy and content.

Jamal helped himself to another helping of rice, and turned his attention from his brother to the Carriers, asking how they occupied their day. Daisuke regailed him with a highlight reel of Jun's cutest moments, showing him the days snapshots on his phone, which Jamal seemed to adore.

"I still say he's going to keep your eyes, my darling," he told his bride softly, and Daisuke shrugged.

"Maybe. Better than getting my gap teeth or my bitch attitude-"

"Or your tongue. Daisuke, that's twice in ten minutes. Did you even try to mind your words today?"

Daisuke sighed deeply, casting a quick glance up to Eric.

"Jamal, it's fine. Honestly Eric and I played with Jun and talked about a soap opera and I taught him how to press shirts. It's not like we sat teaching Jun to throw gang signs."

"I never said you would, Daisuke," he said fairly, "but we've both agreed to watch our language around Jun. It's no use starting once he's finally started talking and mimicking us, we both need to work on new habits now."

"I know, Jamal, and I agree, but I slip. I was military, we cuss all the damn time-"

"Daisuke if you do it again you'll be silent for dinner."

Eric peered nervously from husband to wife, feeling again far out of his element here, trying to keep up with a dynamic he just couldn't understand. Daisuke focused on his plate, looking more embarrassed than anything, not giving Eric much to feed on. So he diverted to his husband, silently hoping for Kharis to have answers. Blessedly, the general seemed calm and unperturbed.

"Well, if the pair of you are looking to better yourselves for the baby, then Eric and I should make the same commitment, don't you agree, Eric?" He asked calmly after a bite of glazed carrots. "I myself know I'll be a dreadful influence on our babies without someone to keep me accountable; what do you think, Eric, think we can manage to not corrupt our nephew?"

"...well I'm already a perfect aunt, you shoulda seen me get him dressed earlier. He didn't even pee on me."

Kharis wore his age well for 36, but his eyes had laugh lines when he smiled, and Eric loved the look it gave his face, handsome but experienced, soothing.

"Excellent. I'm sure you'll make a wonderful mother someday, Eric, same as Daisuke."

Daisuke gave a small nod, mostly to his plate still. It was Jamal who was harder to read, appraising Kharis for a long moment, trying to decide if he was pissed off or not. Finally though, he nodded, and poured another glass of tea for his wife.

"We both can do better, Daisuke," he relented, swallowing just a teaspoon of his pride. "But you're around him all day, you understand. Please be more minsful, or well have another talk. Understood?"

"Yes, Jamal," he said, seeming relieved where Eric would have only grown more tense. Lost as ever, the young Carrier peered at his husband, who's bright face and ease back into conversation seemed to indicate that he considered this a win. Well then, alright. So would Eric.

)))(((

Dove sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the bathroom door knob. It had a lock. A little push button one. Easy to pick, maybe, but still A Lock, one he knew he was allowed to use...but good Carriers didn't lock doors between themselves and their husbands. The CEC taught him that. All those books taught him that. His old man taught him that his first and only visit home after the change, slapping him square across the face for the nerve to say he wanted to close his bedroom door. Carriers were suppose to be available to men, whether for sex, for comfort, or, in his dad's case, to beat around and call a whore.

Fuck that, he thought, tapping his foot against the terrycloth bath mat for another moment before he got up and locked the door, savoring the heavy click. He put the plug in the tub, filled it with scalding water and bubble bath, and sank in.

Shit had been rough since the CEC incident. He'd gotten 3 stitches because Amber nearly bit a chunk out of his hand, the psycho bitch, and he had nightly video calls with both his husband and his counselor to "talk about his transition into his new life station." Whatever the fuck that meant. 2 weeks no contact with his CEC friends, but he could survive that. His best friends were already married, like him, so he could survive that. Dovine Miller was made of stronger sruff, he could survive anything-!

Footsteps in the hall, a knock on the door, and his heart sank.

"Hey, sweetheart, you in the tub?"

"...yeah…"

"Right on. Can I grab an extra towel? Cantaloupe knocked over his water bowl again."

"...doors locked," Dove said with the breeziest voice he could muster, a bravery he did not feel, and he stated down the door. Captain Kyle Miller was 186 pounds of military grade muscle, not exactly a combat trained behemoth but definitely someone who could hold his own against a Carrier, and could surely kick that door down with ease, dragging his Carrier out of the bath and into the bedroom, taking a leather belt across his wet skin-

"Oh, ok hon, sorry to bother! I'll just dig a towel out of the laundry, k? Have a good soak."

Dove sank down further, letting the bubbles tickle the underside of his nose. Fucker.

It isn't like Dove wanted to get beaten, he just saw it as inevitable. That's just how men in power /were/. His dad never hesitated to take his hand to Dovines ass, or loosen one of his teeth, give him a long tumble down a flight of stairs. Why would his husband be any different? He was a Carrier now, afterall, estrogen softening his muscles as readily as it did his skin, whisking away strength and body hair in equal measure. He lifted one leg from the soapy water; his white-blonde hair was fine stranded, but he had about as much on his calves as any man did, even post change, and it was growing in prickly. A razor sat on the ledge, a clean blade set into the handle, and though he would never consider it, though it was not an out he would take, just the idea that he could, now, with the locked door...if Kyle found cuts on his skin, would he be worried, or furious? Bandage them gently and take him for help or just tsk away the cuts as being nothing more than an annoyance as his father had? What /would/ make him furious, if fights with young Carriers just got him hugs and cocoa and "I'm sorry's" and "please don't do that agains?"

Five days since the fight. Five days he waited for his legal owner to punish him, to take him over his knee, or slap him, or make him kneel and apologize to him. But nothing. Nothing but a lot of awkward talks at counseling about what it means to be the head of the house and how to handle This Behavior once he's expecting, but no actual retaliation…

It scared the ever living fuck out of Dove. Every man, he was sure, had a limit, when instinct and drive took over manners and modern notions of equality, where a man would realize he could have anything he wanted and no one would stop him, and the sooner he found Kyles limit, the easier he could rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for contuing to read and review guys, I appreciate you all


	40. Forgotten Corners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, but I think you'll understand why. Enjoy!

Kharis woke them both up with another nightmare Sunday night, just hours before dawn. Shrieking, shaking, he trembled in the dark while Eric fumbled around for the lamp. Dim, warm light barely illuminated his husband as he sat, wide eyed and panting, and Eric cooed softly as he drew near. Slowly Kharis seemed to come out of his fugue, eyes settling, wiping at his brow. And reaching for Eric. It seemed, upon waking from whatever ghosts haunted his sleep, all Kharis wanted was his wife. Eric didn't need any government book to tell him what to do here, and he slipped delicately into Kharis's lap, laying his head to his husbands shoulder and let the man hold him, peppering his neck with kisses and whispering broken words into his ear. I'm sorry, so sorry, my bride, please don't go, not yet, just a while longer-!

Eric shushed each protest and excuse, sleepy as he was, and helped ease Kharis back down to the bed, still wrapped tight in his arms, where he was sure he would spend the rest of his night. In the morning, they wouldn't speak of it, and that was fine. Eric always made it clear that if he ever needed to, Eric would listen. 

)))(((

Six weeks. It took almost 6 fucking weeks since their wedding before the pair finally got around to cleaning out the last of the old house. Eric kept offering to go alone and be picked up after Kharis got off work, but the general was having none of that. There was no security left on the old house, and he felt far too apprehensive leaving his wife alone there all day. No, it wouldn't do, it had to wait till the stars aligned properly for a Sunday and, finally, nearly through October, they managed to make it, and immediately set to divide and conquer. Kharis was going to clear out the tools and storage from the garage and crawlspace, while Eric wrapped up the last bits of photo albums and trinkets and winter clothes left around the house. With luck they would be done by noon, unpacked by 3, and could laze around the rest of the night. Halloween was only a week away, and there were a half dozen pumpkins sitting on the table waiting to be carved. All things considered, Eric was rather surprised when Kharis came home with them, expecting his husband to be...not a fan of the goriest holiday of the year. Indeed, slasher movies were not something he wanted in the house, but he had a fondness for kitchy ghosts, pumpkins, and googly eyed spiders. 

But first, work. Eric, knowing the dust that had surely settled within the past month, wore his sturdiest jeans for the event, but wore a cornflower blue apron stop his clothes, unable, already, to shake the advice of his books to always put on a feminine air. Even when chucking out gloves that were more dustbunny than polyester by this point. Umbrellas, seldom used on the dusty plains, tucked into the corners, nothing but a haven for spiders. Fuck gender equality for 3 seconds, Eric absolutely would leave the creepy crawlies for the man of the house to take care of. Beneath the sink he sorted through bleach and window cleaner, checking expiration dates and discarding instructions, piling the newer things into a box to take back to the house. They could use the extras, after Eric learned through trial and error that a full cup of bleach was way too much for the wash (Kharis had only been slightly upset at the load of ruined clothes; mostly he was worried about Eric having chemical burns and made him take a cool shower.)

Into Kharis's bedroom, there was very little left, their bedframe and dresser having been moved. Some half empty boxes lay scattered about, filled with shoes, bundles of socks, paperback novels, video discs, and folders spilling with god knows what kind of paperwork. Well. Kharis told him to just get it straightened up, only throw out the actual garbage, so he could handle this and make Kharis sort through all this shit at home.

Music playing, humming along, it wasn't the worst chore to accomplish, and he filled less than a trash bag through the whole house so far; Kharis really wasn't one for clutter. In the closet he unfurled several garment bags with civilian suits he was sure Kharis hadn't worn for ages, a box of old vinyl records with "Omar Page" scrawled in Sharpie. He wondered if that was his father. Hauling that fifty pounds out of the way, all that was left was another pair of dress pants fallen from a hanger, an empty photo album and a shoe box, coated with dust.

He hadn't meant to open it, he really hadn't, but the lid unfolded from itself, old and tattered from age, it tipped the box, and everything just went spilling out onto the closet floor.

"Oh, shit," Eric sighed, scurrying to gather everything up and put it back.

...he hadn't meant to look. None of the papers meant shit to him. It was all military shit, nothing a teenage Carrier needed to mind, but out from between the folders and envelops fell something heavy and solid, clattering onto the wooden floor with a metallic clunk. Afraid he'd broken something, he swore under his breath and scrambled for it, picking the object up between 2 fingers in case of sharp edges. However, he was in no danger of cuts; it was smooth, heavy and cold, and lay flat in his palm as he held it up to the scant closet bulb. A medal, a beautiful one even, bronze hung on a rich purple ribbon, edged in silver, an old fashioned profile embedded into violet enamel. 

Eric wasn't a child of the military, but he'd been raised in a culture where ranks and valor ran through the people's blood, and he would recognize a purple heart when he saw one. Quickly, he searched through the spilled papers, finding the heavy manilla envelope where the medal has fallen from. Carefully, he reached into it, sliding out a folded leather case, embossed on the front with the words "Kharis Leonard Page, Brigadier General". That was a rank below what he was now, so this was at least ...actually he couldn't say how old it was. He had no idea when Kharis had been promoted to Major General. All Eric knew was that 36 was young for the rank, and little more.

Inside, heavy parchment bore a certificate, and he ran his eyes down the tidy black ink.

"On this day, the 12th of April in the year of our Lord two-thousand seventy-four, the Militia and Armed Forces of the Greater Union presents to one Kharis Leonard Page the honor of the purple heart, for bodily sacrifice on foreign enemy soil."

Below was an illegible signature Eric didn't even try to read. Further down, on the opposite fold of the leather packet, was a photograph, and Eric couldn't stop staring. Kharis was young, no older than twenty if Eric's math was right, and he stood in front of an unfurled Union flag, wearing full dress formals, the same uniform type he had worn to their wedding. Here though, he wore only one brass star on each shoulder and fewer ribbons on the front. Hair cut short beneath his cap, eyes unlined from age, he would have looked quite handsome were it not for the pained, wide stare in his eyes, and the white strips of gauze bandaging peeking over the top of his tall collar along his right side, the side where he...but…

Eric laid the folder down carefully, but kept hold of the medal as he rooted further through the box, pulling out next a small album, with the stamp of the Union army on the front. On the first page, in tidy, heavy letters, was written,

"Kharis, my son, I cannot put into words the pride I have in you. Your mother would have been just as proud and just as overjoyed to finally have you home."

Beneath this were words written in language Eric couldn't read, something soft and slanted and full of curls. Carefully he flipped through the pages, barely taking in each photograph. It was a ceremony, Kharis just one of seemingly a hundred soldiers or more, in a grand hall. Unlike the portrait in the case, these were snapshots, some dark, some a little blurry. An old man covered in more decorum than seemed possible to wear stood speaking at a podium, there were glimpses of reporters in the edges of some photos. In the background of most was the Union flag, a few state flags which Eric couldn't identify since most looked more or less the same. In a few shots though, was another, never in full, only in parts, a stark black and white flag, lots of writing, always getting lost in the folds where it hung, or obscured by someone milling about. It definitely rang a bell, but he couldn't place it, not till he flipped to the back of the album, where out fell several loose photos, an envelope, and a folded square of black and white fabric. 

Already recognising the shapes, Eric went to that first, the material crisp and heavily creased; it had obviously not been unfolded in some time. So the young Carrier treated it with delicate movements, recognition dawning across his face along with an immediate rush of confusion as he read,

/POW-MIA/

Across the top of the small flag. Before his brain could try and scramble the implications of those letters, before he could decide whether or not to shove this all into the back of the closet and his mind, he heard Kharis's voice and footsteps coming down the hall.

"So I'm gonna need to call up Marco again, borrow his truck for the table saw, but if you make an extra serving for him at dinner-"

Kharis froze as he caught sight of his wife sitting at the doorway to the closet, medal on his hand and flag unfurled across his lap like a burial shroud, and turned a very queer shade of gray. Immediately, Eric worried he was in trouble, another moment of 'this is it, this is when I get bent over his knee and taught how a proper Carrier behaves', but it never came. What he got instead was so much worse.

"Eric...Eric, where did you...I thought I'd taken all that…" 

Eric had first heard his husband speak in March, as he talked a terrified, newly changed Carrier down from a pile of technical refuse. That was only 7 months ago, but he had never heard his voice waver the way it did now. Even when he was annoyed or angry or in the throes of a night terror, Kharis's voice was always solid, but now, it seemed to fade, translucent as a breaking mist in the sunlight.

"I...I'm sorry, Kharis, I didnt...I wasn't snooping," Eric tried to defend himself, clutching the medal tight in his palm. "It fell open, then I just...I was curious, I'm sorry…"

Kharis didn't seem angry or ready to strike him, but Eric recoiled all the same as he walked closer, sensing another ripple of hurt over Kharis's face. His movements became slow and cautious as he knelt down across from his wife, surveying the articles laid out between them. Unsure hands reached out, first to the small flag, then to the folder, the album, never quite touching. It was as though he were afraid they might burn him. Finally, he made a small movement towards Eric's hand, as though intending to take the medal from him, and Eric opened his fingers, laying it our flat on his palm for him. Once he could touch it, though, Kharis seemed to change his mind again, and his hand fell slack.

Struggling to find his own voice, Eric asked, "Kharis? What are...what did...is this what you dream about at night, when you wake up scared?"

Eric wasn't expecting an answer, not with Kharis seeming so lost right now, looking eerily like that photograph of him from 16 years ago. But he nodded, and tried again to reach forward, to have something in his hands, and Eric bridged the gap between then, pressing the purple medal into Kharis's rough palm. He didn't drop it like a current ran through it, the way Eric almost expected, just stared at it with a deep look of concentration. 

"Kharis? ...you...you didn't get burned in an office fire here at home, did you?"

"...no," he whispered, so soft that even were they not alone in the room, only Eric would hear.

"And you didn't come back from the war in 72 like everyone else did."

"No...no, I didn't, Eric."

Eric couldn't think of what to say; he was suddenly and thoroughly very much 18 years old, waiting for the adult, the grown man, the leader of their family to take control and tell him what to do, what was going on.

"...I'm so sorry, Eric, I didn't want you to find this," he said finally, running his thumb over the glistening enamel of the pin medal. "I thought I'd moved it already."

Eric nodded, and compulsively smoothed his hands over his lap, over the stiff flag, and tried to shove away the 18 year old part of him, calling instead on the married, resilient Carrier part. 

"Do you...I think maybe...you could tell me about it. If you can," he suggested, with his heart rioting in his chest. "We're married now, I'm...I'm your wife. So you don't have to, you know, carry stuff alone anymore...ok?"

Kharis still couldn't bring himself to look at his bride, but slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded, and unfolded his legs from below him to sit more comfortable, and Eric did the same, trying not to shiver from nerves in this great empty house, watching Kharis finally search for the words to speak.


	41. Another World In Shanghai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh. War and trauma talk.

"I was 8 years old when the U.S. got involved with the conflict between the Emirates and the Northern Eurasian Alliance," Kharis began slowly, as though it was a chore of Greek mythological strength to recall so far back. "And by then, most of the middle East and western Europe were already tearing their borders and their men apart over it. The books will tell you it was over oil and water and all that, and it's true, but wars don't start without unfit men in the lead. By the time I was 10, it was an all out brutality. People started calling it World War 3, and it's not inaccurate. I was just a kid, in the middle of what use to be the richest country on earth, but even I could tell shit was going south."

Eric nodded, listening intently. Dad had told him about growing up during the last war. Sugar rations became food rations became water rations in the midwest. Shops closed, factories churned out steal and bread and machine guns through all hours. Fathers went away to war, and then mothers and siblings... He knew this.

"The first academies opened when I was 11, to prepare the next wave of soldiers, and all my brothers and I, the one's old enough, we went. Dad was Air Force, of course his sons would serve, and I was just along for the ride then. Private school, military school, it's all the same hell when you're 11, you know?"

Again he nodded, though Eric doubted his wild child middle school years could compare to what Kharis was telling him.

"When I was 13, that's when they expanded the draft. Up to 40, down to 16. Birthday lots were drawn, like back in Vietnam. 2 a week. My oldest brother was one of the first sent. Then it was open to women without children, and my older sister went…" Kharis sighed, shaking, staring still at the bedroom carpet. "Marisa was beautiful, and so bright. All we know was she was in Paris. Never...never knew where she was buried, even, never got her tags or...but...but then I turned 14. And they lowered the draft age again."

"To 14."

"...yeah, babe. To 14," he sighed, and Eric scooted himself just slightly closer to his new husband as he spoke. "The first day of the new draft, they called out 50 birthdays, and every fucking person was glued to their tv's and computer screens streaming the lottery. One after another, and you could hear your neighbors screaming and crying when it was their sons and daughters going off to fight. A shopkeeper just downstairs from out apartment just out his front window. They read 25, 30, 40. And the more they read off the safer you felt, you know?"

Kharis brought his knees up, resting his arms on them, and buried his hands in his hair to support the weight of his own head.

"Last date they called out was January 4th. Didn't think my mother was ever going to stop crying...last time I ever saw her was 2 days later at the airport when they shipped us all out to Kentucky for training. Me and my next sister. She got stationed in Montreal, and then I went to Turkey, then to Beijing and finally Shanghai."

Eric knew little of the foreign conflict, mostly he'd learned of the domestic bombings, the few raids that tried to spread through their land. He knew of his dad having to run for shelters during drills. Dad's birthday was February 12th; mom's had been May 3rd, 2 of only 29 birthdays never called to the draft. Luck of the draw.

"Was 16 when I got dropped in Shanghai, and everyone was switching sides so damn often. We were the Union by then, the US, Canada, most of Western Europe, Japan, Taiwan, but others came and went as the interests changed. By the time everything fell apart, we didn't know who we are fighting. We were just hundreds of men and women, children, living in trenches and just trying to stay alive. That woulda been May 72."

"When the plague came."

Kharis didn't answer right away, but Eric took affirmation in the silence, and he reached his leg out, just laying his shin near enough to touch Kharis's leg.

"It...out there, in the mountains and the forests, we'd lost consistent contact ages ago. If it didn't run on satellite, we couldn't use it. So we had no idea...we came up on a village, and it looked like the whole horizon was on fire, trying to burn bodies, hundreds of them, all women, little girls...that's when the women in our ranks started getting sick. A lot of people compared the symptoms to Ebola, and they aren't wrong, it was...and larger cities, when we got to Shanghai proper, there was nowhere to...to burn them, or bury them-!"

Honestly Kharis looked ill, and Eric pulled himself back up onto his knees, to peer into his face.

"Kharis, you can stop," he assured him, unsure if he should reach out. "I can get you water?"

"No," he said firmly, closing his eyes to regain his composure. "No, I'm fine, I want to…

"It was almost a month before we had any rumours solidified. Bombs, some mind of bioterrorism, rampaging through the world, killing off our mothers and sisters and daughters. And that was one of the last contacts we had with the Union. By September, just before you were born, my battalion was surrounded by the Chinese army, and all 500 of us left were captured."

Eric looked down to the flag that had fallen from his lap, the one meant to immortalized those lost in war, never found, or unreachable.

"And that's where we spent the next 22 months, in a prison camp." Kharis's voice kept wavering between numb dissociation, and sounding sick. "I was promoted to Captain not long before that. Our CO had been a hell of a woman named Denise, and after she died, we struggled to try and find any order amongst ourselves, even in the camp. They...Eric, you have to understand, we don't know any more now than we did then, but at the time knowing seemed far more urgent. Everyone blamed everyone else, and the US was always a top contender for blame. Maybe we did it, maybe not. Doesn't fucking matter, it got us anyway. But hey, we were there, a bunch of American Union troops, easy for them to take out their anger, I guess."

Eric sat on edge, his own turn now to feel sick to his stomach, not sure if he wanted to hear what was coming next. But he couldn't leave, he wouldn't even consider it.

"They...weren't exactly kind to us. We were starved, beaten, near drowned, and we had no idea if anyone back home was looking for us. We had no idea if anyone was alive, if they knew we were alive...I saw so many men kill themselves, without any hope left, but I couldn't even consider it. So, without much of anything else to do for months on end, I studied them. I picked up more of the language, I memorized faces, and I got the remaining men settled in for it too. If we were gonna die in China, it might as well be fighting. So that's what we did...that's what I did."

Voice still so far off, Kharis absently raised his left hand, massaging his right shoulder, where the skin was puckered and warped and stretched thin.

"It took me and 3 other men almost 5 months to plan it out, smuggling what we could, scrap metal, nails, anything to rig makeshift weapons. Their numbers had shrunk over the time there, and weak as we were, we were still convinced we could take them. So one night, we ambushed the patrolmen, made it to the fence and sort of just...lost our damn minds."

"But...but you're alive!" Eric interjected, stress bubbling up in his belly and making him desperate for the end of the story. "So, you made it!"

"...I did, yeah. Eventually." By now, Eric had drawn even closer, longing to be held, to provide what little comfort he could muster, but Kharis still seemed so very far away. "But most of us didn't. We were desperate, but desperation doesn't stop bullets, it doesn't stop landmines, doesn't stop a soldier from throwing you from a guard tower to hand by the smokestack of a furnace."

Eric shuddered, his stomach heaving at such an image, of scalding metal and steal and flame. Kharis reached his hand up to the side of his neck, feeling the uneven texture of his skin.

"Didn't even feel it at first. Nerves burned away, adrenaline...took the guy down with me though, he wasn't so lucky...I made it. Me, and about 80 others. That's all that was left, from a battalion of nearly 1200 when we arrived. Just 80 of us, overtaking a single fort, radioing to Japan, hoping we could hold out long enough for anyone to give a shit."

Another quaking breath, and Kharis peered down at the album, at its cover, but didn't dare look inside. 

"We were lucky, I guess. Nobody left in the province cared enough anymore to guard a handful of Union bastards, once he massacred the camp guarding us. The World was dead anyway. Within hours, we were on planes back to Tokyo, spent 3 weeks in a hospital. 6 more of us died there, from wounds, from malnutrition, disease. Jamal flew out to see me, then. He has pictures, I think. I've never seen them. Don't wish to."

Eric couldn't blame him; he had no interest in seeing them either. By now, he had found the courage to finally extend his hand out, and lay it gently on his husbands forearm, stroking his thumb over the deep skin and strong muscles.

"When...when I got home, everyone spread the news quick, that I was the one who orchestrates the whole thing, drug men over the fence, kept them going until rescue arrived. So I got promoted. Brigadier General at 20, hell of an honor, I won't deny that, lets me provide you a good, safe home, for kids, someday...but it's also a hell of a way to get it, Er."

The young Carrier struggled with what in the name of every God he was supposed to do here. He was barely past the age of awkward first dates under high school bleachers, stolen kisses in homeroom, and now his husband needed him to be an adult. Like, a real adult, the kind who could handle conflict and pain and support a family.

Ok, fuck it. He was a Carrier, damn it, he was made of stronger stuff. 

He liked to think he looked elegant and mature, angelic even, as he unfurled his anxiously wound little body to ease forward and wrap himself around Kharis. Doing so really required him to be practically in his lap, but so be it. He kissed his cheeks, and let Kharis wind his arms firmly around him, feeling him shake as he struggled to not cry.

"It...I...I'm so sorry, Kharis," he breathed to his ear. "I had no idea...everything we learned about the war seemed so damn far away, it doesn't feel real to us, we weren't...we weren't there-"

"I would rather go back myself another ten years than have you ever have to see even a day of that hell, Eric." His voice was growing ragged and sharp, and Eric only nodded, stroking down the side of his warm face to soothe him. "Between the scars and the nightmares...I want to get my shit together for you, Eric. I never...in that prison camp, and then getting home, knowing half my world was gone, I could never imagine someone like you..."

"I know...I know, Kharis...men like me face our own Hell, but you...you've lessened it, for me, you know that right?" Kharis nodded again and Eric could hear the first crack from his throat. "What you did back then, it's saving me now. I could be with someone who would beat me for showing my hair or pass me around to his friends but you chose me, instead."

Unable to speak, Kharis just nodded, and Eric felt his own throat burn as something wet trickled past his fingers on Kharis's cheek.

"Kharis, I...I can't save you," he said in a ragged gasp, recalling words said to him not so long ago. "I can't change what happened to you or make you well, but I can make like a little better for you in an inhumane world."


	42. Trick or Treat

The box lived in their new home where it did in the old, a back corner of their closet, somewhere reachable and accessible if one was willing to do a little digging but, perhaps, better left in the dark for the most part. Eric let Kharis busy himself with Marco's company the rest of the afternoon, setting up a side of their garage with his workbench. The laughter bubbling in from the open door soothed Eric's nerves; some company seemed to be the distraction Kharis needed to shake off the morning. Eric, meanwhile, after changing clothes, busied himself on the kitchen to get something together for a dinner for 3. Honestly he'd have enjoyed seeing what Kharis was setting up, having been learning a fair bit of shop work from his dad before the change, but his books all said such work wasn't good for him now, and it was better for him to find pursuits more suitable for a Carrier. And besides, dinner needed to be made, regardless of gender...pity, though. He was sure Kharis would have let him help.

Marco stayed for supper, and was sent home with a slice of cake for himself and a slice for his wife, leaving Eric feeling quite domestic indeed. He'd talked his husband down from a traumatic flashback he had unwillingly induced himself and still managed to get supper together. All in all, he'd had worse days.

)))(((

"I really don't want to up your medication, Dovine, but you really don't seem to be faring well right now."

Dove didn't say anything to Dr. Sworensen, just sighed slowly and let him plow on.

"Dovine, it's been a year since you changed and you started seeing me," he pressed, "and in that time I think you have made some excellent progress in being able to sort through your pain surrounding the change. And now, 10 weeks into your marriage, suddenly you're clamming up."

'Thanks for the narration, doc,' Dove thought to himself, staring blankly at the seascape shadow boxes on the wall.

"Is Captain Miller treating you well, Dovine?"

He shrugged, eyes still on the miniature lighthouse and the white sand fake beach.

"Are you coping well with his expectations in the bedroom?"

Because that's what's important, yup, if he was spreading his legs and sucking dick proper.

"Has he struck you?"

Nope, and that was the whole problem. Kyle absolutely refused to slap his wife and it was pissing Dove off. He'd been giving it quite a run, too. Refusing to cook dinner, leaving laundry wet in the dryer, hogging the bathroom, leaving clothes on the floor. Generally being as much a brat as he could be, and as confrontational as he could manage. He read double meanings into everything Kyle said, going so far as to ask if he was sleeping around on him yet or if he was gonna wait till he was fat and scarred and ugly after their first baby. And Kyle, he had stared in wonder, disbelief. He had denied and soothed and slammed doors and begged softly and taken Dove for extra therapy sessions, but never, not once, had he raised a hand against his Carrier husband.

It had Dove so fucking nervous hed started throwing up, which landed him first a pregnancy test and then a long evaluation in the med ward, getting Eric's old eating disorder questionnaires. And what did Kyle do during all this? He worried, he brought home chicken noodle soup, and looked so fucking lost. Poor fuck was only 33 and realizing he married a god damned lunatic. Dove could almost feel sorry for him if he hadn't become so suddenly and inexplicably terrified of the man.

"Kyle's fine," Dove whispered, more to the tiny glass boxes seashore than to his doctor. "Kyle's fine. It's me that's messed up."

"I don't think Captain Miller would agree with you on that-"

"So it's my husbands opinion of me that matters, right?"

"I didn't say that, Dovine," his shrink countered with that gentle but steady voice he had perfected in his years tending to Carriers. "I mean, Captain Miller is worried for you. We're afraid you aren't adjusting to married life, might not be ready to start a family yet."

"What choice do I have?" He sighed. "Can you get me an exemption from marriage and babies for being crazy?"

"You know I can't, Dovine...are you having second thoughts about your pairing?"

"...no. no, Kyle...Kyle isn't the problem, doc. I told you, it's me."

And it was true. Kyle brought home flowers and horror movies and his camera roll was filled with photos of his dog and he loved retro space and science documentaries. The best night of their marriage so far was just staying up till 4 am on a Saturday night watching Cosmos together and drooling, wondering what it must have been like to be alive 130 years ago when men landed on the moon, talking about their dreams of a revamped space program some day, maybe using technology they had helped to engineer.

Kyle Miller wasn't the problem. He was a good man, and Dove was the failure. Their very biologies had proven that. Once upon a time they has both been studious, industrious men, rising in their fields, professional, scientists. Trying to better the world. But then Dovine Lowen changed, and Kyle Miller did not. Dove held no religion, no creed. He didn't believe in an afterlife or reincarnation, but ever since he passed out at work a year ago and woke up in a hospital room filled with men treating him like a specimen in a Petri dish, Dove had come to question, at least, the cosmic cruelty of the universe. There was no other answer. He had done something wrong, and was being punished for it. What that was, he didn't know. Dad had taught him that infractions might not ever be noticed by the one being punished, afterall. But he had surely done something awful, and he just needed Kyle to give him a few slaps across the face for penance. That was what he'd been expecting for the last year, and he didn't know what he was supposed to do until then.

His shrink didn't seem to like his evasive answers, and rifled through the last few pages of his patients notes, looking for who knows what.

"It was Kyle who brought you in today, wasn't it?"

"No shit, Carriers aren't allowed to drive. They cut my license in half right in front of me."

Sworensen winced sympathetically but chose to just file that away for a later session.

"Don't you think that it's something you should take comfort in, then? Even if you're having trouble getting past the awkward newlywed phase, Kyle obviously loves you. He wants you to get better."

Doves cheeks, always so pale, grew pink, and he tugged a thread on his sweater.

"Hard to believe, doc. I'm not used to having someone look out for me."

)))(((

Eric was very sure there was no light quite as romantic as Jack O'Lantern light, even if from fire safe LED candles and not the real thing. It was just warm and flickery with only the concept of spookiness, contrasting to the sound of dry leaves skitting along the asphalt. It made him terribly cozy and cuddly. Which was probably how he found himself pinned to the living room carpet with his husbands lips at his throat. Which was far and away not the worst way he'd spent a Halloween night. That distinction went to the time his friend Sean, of "you married my lab partner?" Fame, had backed his dads pickup truck into a light pole, while Eric and 2 others had been riding in the bed. Everyone was fine, but the bruises Kharis promised to leave on his neck were a lot better than the ones he'd gotten on his ribs that night . 

"Khariiiis," he groaned, perfecting his whine, a true art form, as he halfheartedly put his hands to his chest. "I'm having Dove over tomorrow, if you leave hickeys, he'll see!"

Kharis only pressed on, tracing the tip of his tongue slowly over a sore spot beneath Eric's ear he had just made.

"I'm fairly sure Dovine knows by now what a husband and his wife do alone,"

Eric longed to protest more, but Kharis was fast learning what he liked, and biting at his ear and kissing just under his jaw was the number one way to get Eric to whimper and let his legs fall open. Ok, awesome, getting fucked on the floor actually sounded kinda hot-

/DING-DONG/

Mother-!

The two paused, Kharis's eyes heavy, and irritated, his attention obviously only I'm focused on one thing right now, and Eric was sure his face was flushed pink.

"Ignore it," Kharis said easily, cupping Eric's cheek and keeping him still for a kiss, tongue tracing past Eric's open lips, and-

/DING-DONG/

"Who the fuck-"

"C'mon you two, I know you're home, open up!"

Motherhood had not softened Owen's voice at all. Reluctance colored his husbands face, not wanting to leave the warm and inviting cocoon of his brides arms, but Eric nodded and let Kharis help him off the floor. Shirts were pulled down, hair smoothed back into place, trying to make it look like they were not about to fuck, before opening the door on their untimely guests, just in time to witness a scolding.

"-even expecting us, Owen, so it's very rude to be calling out, understood?"

"Yes, Sir," Owen replied, equal parts demure and annoyed, both of which melted from his face upon seeing the Pages 

"Trick or treat, y'all!"

Owen looked pretty exuberant and bright eyed for a brand new mom, and Eric could only hope for that kind of energy once he had his first baby. He wore Lani in a wrap slung near his chest, in a black and silver spider web print, a matching shawl drawn over his arms.

"Is he the spider or the fly?" Eric wanted to know, and Owen turned himself so his friends could see his baby better. His dark hair was mostly covered by a black beanie, on which Owen had sewn 5 red button eyes and 2 white fangs.

"He's my li'l spider!"

Kharis seemed to think this was too adorable and fine, Eric at this point would let Kharis enjoy whatever simple pleasures he damn well wanted. However, beyond that, he seemed quite torn between proper social etiquette and wanting to get back to his and Eric's precious diversion. While rude to let then stand on the porch, he also seemed reluctant to let them inside.

Owen to the rescue, though, as he fished through his satchel to pull out two little orange foil pouches, tied with black ribbon, and plopped them proudly into Eric's hand. 

"I guess it's more like reverse trick or treat," he amended brightly. "We knock on your door and bring you candy instead!"

Relieved, Khariss smile returned in earnest.

"That's so sweet, Owen, thank you both...all."

"Oh yeah Lani was the biggest help," Owen said, rolling his eyes. "He's our little household supervisor aren't you little guy?"

Lani did what babies did best, and slept contentedly through his first Halloween.

"I'm sure he'll be more excited in a few years, darling," Teagan said kindly to his bride. "He's only 4 weeks old, give him time. Oh, General Page, have you checked your email for the night yet?"

"...no, I've been busy," he said easily, and Eric couldn't help but be a tease, letting his hand slide up the small of Khariss back just under his t shirt. He would catch hell for it later but that was Future Eric's problem. "Why, has there been some sort of emergency?"

"No, nothing like that," Teagan said easily. "But Frost is finally retiring."

"No shit? About time, how old is he now, 60?"

"He wishes," Teagan said with a dollop of dark humor. "More like near 80. But with a 4 star General stepping down, that's going to leave quite an earthquake behind. You interested in moving up the ranks any, Sir?"

Kharis pulled a sour face, then struggled to cover it up quickly.

"Hardly. I've already taken on the neighboring fort after it closed down, my workload is solid. I'd rather have what little spare time I have for my new family. Besides, I'm not fond enough of Lincoln to move back."

Eric slid his hand down just a bit, tugging on the back of Kharis's belt. He was gonna be in such shit.

"Indeed, Sir...cant day I won't be interested to see what opportunities present themselves myself," said Teagan, and Kharis nodded politely. "But I'm sure you and little Eric will be attended the officers ball in Frost's honor?"

Eric paused his teasing for just a moment, attention pricked.

"Naturally, Captain Demuir, wouldn't miss it. Our boys first formal event, won't that be exciting?" He asked, turning a cheeky grin to his Carrier wife, and Eric felt like karma was already biting his ass.

"A uh. A formal?"

"That's right, darling. I figured our first would be new years, but with such a senior officer retiring, of course his base would throw him quite a party."

Eric sighed, holding on to the loop of Kharis's belt.

"This means a fancy dress, doesn't it?" He wanted to know, and the look on Kharis's face told him that if he wasn't still trying to get his husband hard, he might show more pity.

"I'm sure Mrs. Demuir can offer some advice as to what's fashionable amongst young Carriers, Eric. You'll look just stunning in something strapless, maybe?"

"The last time you had me in a strapless dress, my husband," he pressed through grit teeth, tracing his fingernails up his spine, "we nearly didn't make it to our own engagement party, if you remember."

"I do remember, my dear wife, very, very clearly-"

"Okaaay, Teagan, it's time for us to go now!" Said Owen with as high and bright s voice as he could muster, causing baby Lani to fuss slightly in his swaddle. Teagan seemed to agree wholeheartedly, though it was impossible for Eric to miss the grin on his face as he ushered his wife and baby down the steps.

As soon as Kharis closed and locked the door behind them, Eric knew he was in for it, which may or may not have been his entire plan.

"What a little troublemaker I've wed," Kharis simpered, and Eric, heart beating and ready to play, took a measured tentative step backwards towards the kitchen.

"Didn't they tell you in counseling, General Page?" Eric taunted back, "Carriers demand a lot of attention. Not my fault you can't keep me in line. Or satisfied."

Kharis was 6 and a half feet tall, 270 pounds, and every bit of him radiated coiled, steady control as he took slow, even strides after his bride. Eric backed further into the darkened kitchen, wondering if Kharis still wanted to fuck him on the counter.

"Well may I never be guilty of not giving my wife anything he desires," Kharis said with a smile playing on his lips, hair loose and looking almost wild backlit from the living room. "You want my attention, darling, I'll give it to you."

And just before Kharis could reach him, Eric stole his one advantage, his size, and slipped away from Kharis just before he could reach him, a peel of laughter bubbling up from his throat.

"Oh, you want to play chase, Eric? Alright, I'm game," Kharis called after him, amusement coloring his own voice.

It wasn't like there were a lot of places to go or hide in their house. It was 1 story plus a basement, because it was tornado alley, with 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms and it's share of closets. Eric's only idea was to wait behind the guest bedroom door and dart out when Kharis came in and, hopefully, checked the other side first.

As Kharis's footsteps tread down the hallway, Eric felt on edge, not from any fear that he would be in real danger, merely from the thrill, like nearing the end of video game. Through the gap in the door Eric watched the shape of his husband ease into the room and, blessedly, turn first to check the closet side, giving Eric .4 seconds to bolt out the door and down the hall, but Kharis was just behind him now, obviously toning down his impulse to run into just a quick trot. Give Eric the illusion of a fighting chance. 

He caught his bride while trying to slip through the laundry room, a sturdy arm around Eric's waist halting his progress and scooping him up clear off the ground.

"I win!" Kharis laughed, his merry sound contrasting with the faux seriousness of their game. Eric, too, tried to sound indignant, but his grin made that difficult. At least at first. Once Kharis eased him over his shoulder and gave his ass a light smack, it drew out a gasp and a little shutter.

"Oh, that something you like, beautiful?" Kharis asked, and Eric could hear the grin across his fucking face."

"...no."

"You're lying."

"I'm not!"

"You're hard."

Well so he was. Shit.

Eric's back eased onto the mattress, legs spread, knees drawn back with Kharis arching himself above him, making a secure, private alcove from his arms. Their kiss was slow, savoring each movement, one another's breath on their skin, the way Eric quivered feeling his husbands erection press near his ass.

"Devilish little thing you are, taunting me in front of guests?" Kharis said amongst a light moment of laughter. He bit gently on Eric's bottom lip. 

"Huhn-! You knew you were marrying a brat, Kharis," he pointed out, trying to somehow be subtle about how he longed to rut himself against his husbands thigh. "You'd be bored if I didn't entertain you."

"There are better ways to keep your husband entertained, don't you think, Eric?"

He shook his head, putting on the most aggravatingly smug pout he could, hoping the look was equal parts adorable and lustful. He must have succeeded, as he soon had Khariss strong hand on his jaw, holding him still as he traced Eric's lips with his tongue, continuing their kiss at an agonizingly slow pace, each movement and tantalizing taste sending another dram of blood throbbing between his legs. Honestly the most delicious and painfully frustrating thing about being a Carrier was how, when he got turned on, there was really no mercy. First his cock hardened, as quickly as it ever did before, stiff and insistent for touch, and soon after his cunt would warm, swell, and become embarrassingly wet, which just sent out the pleading message of "Fuck me". 

Kharis traced his game down Eric's exposed throat, nipping along his collar bone, biting at the hollow, and Eric hated to think what sort of necklace of bruises his husband was leaving for him, reds and purples blooming beneath his teeth. Bastard...he wanted more, a peppering of sweet painful kisses down his chest, bilting just near enough his nipples to arch his back and set the boy on edge. Without the instructions to stop, Kharis did just that, stopped only long enough to bunch up Eric's t shirt, neither wanting to take the time to fully undress him. Down the seam of his chest, biting teasingly at his nipples, savoring the whimpering he drew from Eric's throat, Kharis went further, tugging the waistband of Eric's jeans to try and kiss beneath. It was a difficult trial, and within moments the general had enough of that shit and made quick work of the last of Eric's clothes, easing his jeans down his hips and trailing his fingers over Erics warm thighs.

"I will never be over how beautiful you are to me," he sighed, his hands slowly smoothing over his skin, passing achingly close to his wet cunt, then parting to instead grab hold of his hips, exerting just enough pressure for Eric to stay still. He quivered once under the touch, thrilled by how Kharis's arms flexed with the light exertion.

...Eric Page liked being bottom. He might not have been the most sexually knowledgeable teenager when he changed, but 17 is old enough to have an idea what one liked with a partner, and what Eric liked was someone who could fight him. A man who wouldn't treat him like he was made of spun glass, who could play these sorts of teasing games and enjoy dragging Eric around just a bit. The problem was, now, pride. It was expected, almost by law, for a Carrier to be submissive in bed and turn over their sexual agency to their husbands. At the very least it was absolutely unheard of for a Carrier to top. Which, whatever, that didn't effect Eric much, though honestly what two people did in the privacy of their bedrooms shouldn't be anyone's damn business -

Eric felt Kharis's tight curls brush against his thighs, and he let our first a short laugh, because it tickled, but it faded into a stuttering groan as Kharis drug his lips over Erics hardened cock, barely enough pressure to tug the fabric of his briefs. Reaching the head, he parted his lips, loathing his tongue against it and wetting the fabric, letting it stick to Eric's sensitive skin. Months of intimacy had relaxed him, and he let his legs part, easing his hips up as Kharis tugged impatiently on the waistband. He couldn't get them off fast enough, eager to feel Kharis continue his attention on his aching cock. He could take him down to the root without much trouble at all, which was more than Eric could say about his, ah, well endowed husband.

"Fuuuck, Kharis, that's so good," he sighed, squirming contentedly against the sheets as he drew his tongue over the tip in slow, casual passes. Teasong the slit had him trying to arch his back, but Kharis's hands held him firn, stilling his bride. Eric began to whine at this, though really the restraint had his pussy dripping, wanting filled about as badly as he wanted sucked off. Lucky Carrier, he'd married a man who had made the last two months a study of his new wife's body and soon Eric could feel a fingertip sliding over his entrance, then 2, just massaging gentle circles over his cunt, not pressing forward enough to slip inside yet, just stroking the lips, the wet skin.

Another sigh, higher, tore from Erica throat as he tried to move again, wanting to get his dick in further or get something into his pussy, but both trials were in vain. Kharis had laid his forearm over Erics lower belly, not pressing enough to make him feel sick but enough to make movement difficult, especially in any productive direction.

"Kharis you're mean," he accused, slipping one parted leg up over his shoulder, which Kharis seemed to like. At the very least he rewarded it with his lips around the head of Eric's cock, sucking short and quick. As he groaned,hands grabbing at sheets, Kharis finally pressed his fingers into Eric's wet and waiting channel. All the way back, not just teasing at the first knuckle as he often did to loosen him up. Didn't matter. He was shamefully wet, feeling it on his thighs, and he clenched around the intrusion, feeling his fingers slowly withdraw and curl upwards. God, he loved that. He didn't know what was there to touch and toy with, but it felt intense, especially paired with the sinful way Kharis's lips lather over the head.

Eric usually enjoyed long foreplay, patient lovemaking, but he'd been left hard and wet and needy for too long. He raised two fingers to his own mouth to wet, getting them warm and slick before reaching down to trace quick circles over his nipple, waiting till it was stiff and erect before pinching between his nails. It only served to deepen his pleasure, electrified from cock down through his cunt, and soon he felt a familiar and welcome coiling in his belly. He gave his husband little warning, unable to find words through heavy panting, but the high, gasping moan he let out seemed to be enough. Kharis sucked harder, pulsing his tongue to the underside of Eric's cock and stroking his fingers just hard enough to be almost too much inside him. As he calmed, shaking from being far too sensitive now, Kharis relented and drew his attention to Eric's belly, to his inner thighs, his hips, anywhere he could think to lay sweet, wet kisses.

"So beautiful," he growled, a gravely rumble in his chest, and Eric just let out a breath laughter, deciding at least once to just accept the compliment. He could get back to his books and his proper Carrier lessons tomorrow; tonight he just lavished in being the center of Kharis's world.

)))(((

Dovine was pretty sure Kyle would get a divorce if he kept this shit up, but he couldn't help it. He was far too anxious, his nerves too on edge to even think about sex. And besides, it's not like his consent was really needed, legally speaking. Kyle was his owner, he could use him as he saw fit. What court in the Union would punish a man for trying to breed his Carrier?

Still, though, he couldn't help the weighted rock of guilt that sunk into his belly as he turned away from his husbands enquiring kiss, rearranging his blanket around him into a private cocoon. He couldn't bring himself to look at Kyle, knowing he would see disappointment, hurt, and worst of all, worry. But he could sense his body language, see his hesitation from the corner of his eye before settling into his own spot on the couch. Tv on, movie, push play. The comfort of routine. Not enough to quell his guilt.

And not enough to lessen the loneliness the distance placed on him. A man, all those stupid books said, had a right and a desire for his wife, and a wife should cleave to the husband. Well fuck that nonsense to the lowest circle of hell, but all the same, Dovine was use to being touched. And Kyle's touch was always gentle and warm and slow, even when Dove was sure he didn't deserve something so good. They use to spoon in bed; now he turned away, curled up, daring him to lash out…

As the ambiance of the movie grew darker, the typical horror strings picking up to alert the audience of danger, Dove let himself ease just a little closer and search beneath their blankets for his husbands warm hand. No words, he felt too ashamed to speak any, too afraid he might cry or Kyle might yell (But didn't he want that?) But surely, just a touch…

Kyle was patient. Above all, whether Dove wanted to believe it or not, his husband was patient. He might not know how to be a husband, he might not have all his shit together yet at the ripe old age of 33, but he was patient and waited for Dove to twine their fingers together before he gave them a soft squeeze.

"Popcorn?" He offered, shaking the already half empty bowl, and Dove just squeezed his hand back, accepted a bite, and languished feeling his husbands calloused fingertips against his own cool skin.


	43. Regency Chic

Eric was pretty damn sure he would have died months ago if it wasn't for Owen and Dove. Through awkward dates and CEC dorm drama and fluctuating hormones and serotonin levels, the two older Carriers seemed to have adopted Eric as the baby brother of the group, despite only having a few months on him in terms of Carrier experience. They got married first, Owen had a baby first, and all in all he looked to the two of them to show him how to be a decent Carrier, even if Eric's own definition of a decent Carrier moved around more than a squirrel in a meth lab. For example, Eric would have no God damned idea what to expect for an officers ball were it not for those two. Neither had been to one yet, but Owen seemed to be an endless font of knowledge, once again showing the grace and fluidity of a man far older than he actually was.

"They're pretty much the most fancy, formal sort of event our husbands can drag us to," he explained from the back seat with Eric: Dove sat shotgun next to Kyle, who volunteered to chaperone the three men. Well, four if you count six week old Lani in his car seat. Maybe that made it 3 and a half? "It'll be a big dinner, lots of champagne, they'll make toasts and boring speeches about the guest of honor, and nowadays there's a dance. Most officers have Carrier wives or at least a male boyfriend to bring, so these days it's a way to show off your arm candy."

"Gonna parade me around like a show pony?" Dove asked his husband, with an almost nasty tone to his voice and honestly Eric couldn't read those two lately. There was teasing and laughter in Doves voice but tension in his shoulders. But Kyle only smirked, shaking his head.

"You're my husband, Dove, not my thoroughbred."

Dove nodded, a little unease leaving him.

Poor Kyle; Eric pitied the poor man, he really did. Kharis was working this particular Sunday, and Teagan had looked terrified of this prospect of watching a group of his brides friends, so he just gave Owen his bank card, kissed his bride, kissed his baby and slipped Kyle Miller a 20 for his troubles. Kyle was outranked by both Page and Demuir, and was the youngest, so they were probably going to pawn a lot of boring shut off on him. After all, it must be a terribly dull afternoon, taking three Carriers to buy formal gowns. 

Fucking thrilling, Eric thought, sighing as he closed the car door behind him and filed inside a now familiar shop, all under Kyle's watchfufl eye. He wondered if he felt any degree of pride, being entrusted to watch over a captain's newborn and a general's wife?

"Hi, welcome in, be right with you". Well, Fin was still here, the wife of the owner, looking more or less like how he remembered him looking a few months back, save for the telltale curve starting to show through his blouse. Eric gave himself a gold star for being so used to such a site by now that it didn't even startle him, and just let the nice salesman get to work. Owen, bless him, took immediate charge, unbuckleong Lani from his seat as he spoke excitedly to Fin about the occasion, telling him they were all 3 officers wives, and he was gonna make a nice sales commission today 

"Bring the little one your expensive shit, he's married to top brass," he said with a lecherous grin, indicating Eric. Fucking ass.

Fornalwear, Eric had begun to see in the fashion magazines and ads for expensive perfumes, were something far away from what formalwear meant for ladies back in his mother's era. He had seen photos of women pre -war, at weddings and proms and sweet 16s, wearing ballgowns and tight strapless numbers, more like what he'd worn to his engagement party. But the gowns Fin brought out looked more like something from the cover of a Jane Austen novel. Wide necklines, high waists, long, narrow skirts, it was obviously fashion history was repeating itself but honestly, to Eric, it wasn't the worst. The style made sense for their usually flat chests and lack of nipped in waist. Sans pregnancy the only old school feminine thing about their silhouette was their hips, and you couldn't see those in a dress. He rather liked these better than the ones that tried to add curves to their chest or that needed a corset to give them a girlish figure, and with solid satin colors and a lack of too many frills, they had a touch of modern polish to them.

Also he was 99% sure Kharis would find him absolutely stunning in this emerald green number so there was that too. 

"Real cute on you, kid," Fin said, turning Eric around to look at the fit on the back of the dress. "It's a nice style for someone petite."

He just nodded, trying to sort out the feelings he had peering into the mirror. It was just so damn feminine, and with his face continuing to soften from his changing hormones, he knew with a little makeup he'd be that perfect blend between boy and girl that they wanted so badly for Carriers. That look that was so very not Eric. It was, however, very Carrieresque and surely appropriate for a general's wife. Formal, well fitted, alluring to complement his young age but modest enough to not seem taunting. For a group that society pressed so quickly into breeding, they sure freaked out at them looking even a little bit sexually available.

Owen, it seemed, was not faring quite as well, finding his best choices to be frumpier than he'd like.

"It makes me look like I'm still pregnant," he groaned, picking agitatedly at the pintucks down the front of his third gown.

"Owen you had a baby 6 weeks ago, you've still got some belly fat, it's not a big deal," Dove tried to sooth, but his affect was flat, tinged with agitation as he stalled near a mirror. He looked sorely uncomfortable in his dress. Actually he looked that way in most dresses. A skirt and shirt, he wore nicely, but a full fancy gown had him looking ready to bite his own arms off. This did not go unnoticed by Kyle, who chewed the inside of his cheeks, eyes filled with a long suffering worry.

"What do you think, Lani?" Owen asked, turning around to where his baby lay happily in Kyle's arms. "How do you like the tummy you left mommy?"

"...doesn't seem to have any remorse, sorry," Eric teased when Lani continued to just stare blearily at all the brightly colored clothes in the shop. Owen shrugged, and continued fussing with his dress, wanting to try another. Eric was just as happy to go with whatever he had on, and let himself be stood on a short stool so Fin could pin up his hem to be altered, and tuck in the sides around the bust; it wouldn't do, Fin told him, to be at such a ritsy party looking sloppy now would it?

And Eric, though he wasn't exactly comfortable in the gown, though he missed his hacked off shorts caked in mud, his t shirts from school events, he didn't argue, or even pull a sour face. Instead he just smoothed his hands down his skirt, wondering if anyone he would meet at this gala would have deep pockets and an affinity for Carrier education. He made a mental note to ask Kharis that night what level of faux flirtation would be advisable, and if that limit went up the richer a man looked.

)))(((

Dove didn't like his third dress any more than the one's before it, and he fidgeted from the moment he left the changing room, tugging at the shoulders and the sleeves that were both too snug and too loose at the same time.

"...is it itchy?" Kyle asked, patting Lanis back soothingly as hmrje baby began to wonder why this weird ginger was holding him and not his mother.

Dove pulled a sour face, glancing into the mirror only briefly before averting his eyes.

"I just...don't really like this style."

Kyle nodded sympathetically, unable to imagine himself getting zipped and laced and buttoned into one of those long gowns.

"It's a little...much," Kyle agreed, eyeing the tiny, shimmery flecks around the bodice, the tiny rows of pintucks adding just a little swish to the skirt in the back. "But it's what's in current fashion, right? At least that's what Owen said and he's always got his nose in a magazine"

"Fashion is arbitrary and doesn't mean shit."

Another agreeable nod. "Fair enough...we can ask for something else, Dove. I'm sure they have something in a more clean cut style, maybe something black would feel more-"

"I want to wear a suit."

Dove spoke with as much conviction as he could muster, hoping his husband couldn't see the shame on his face in the mirror. Before the change, he'd had seniority in his division, even above some of the old military men, and he had no problem giving orders or making his wishes known. But now it frightened him, scared to shame Kyle, Scared of retaliation. It wasn't uncommon at all to see a man slap his Carrier wife clean across the face for talking back at a restaurant or drag him off for a beating. It was considered good form by some men, even, to make it a lesson for other Carriers. Once, when he was new at the CEC, they'd even had a teacher from Deerfield come in, talk to them about how to not make a giant scene if And when their husbands decided a slap across the face in a grocery store was warranted. 

It made no sense to Dove. The world lost their women, and instead of learning from their mistakes, they had only slid backwards.

Kyle Miller didn't seem upset at all, though, and his eyes simply grew wide, first with surprise, then understanding, and finally relief. 

"Oh, is that all? Dove, if you'd rather get a nice suit we can do that. Shit, it'll save me a good hundred or more anyway, and you look dreadfully handsome in one!"

Dove shook his head, picking at the buttons on his sleeve. "This sounds too formal for me to wear a suit," he argued sullenly, and behind him Kyle just looked lost. Made sense; Dove just had a tantrum about getting what he wanted.

"It's been 5 years. That's hardly enough time to decide what's formal or not for a Carrier-"

"For a woman, Kyle. Be real. They're not interested in letting us decide our own standards they just want us to be women!"

Kyle's silence was agreement. This was no secret. The older the man, the more strictly he tended to adhere to the old gender norms, the more he wanted women back, and to those fuckers, the ability to breed was all that made a woman. So here were Carriers, expected to learn the song and dance, performed barefoot over hot coals.

"...Dovine, I don't care what they want," he said carefully, seeming to be almost wary of his wife's attitude change. "Who gives a shit? A Carriers suit is plenty feminine, well get a dark one with some satin on it-"

"And then you can be the laughing stock of the gala, righ, Captain Miller?"

By now he was gaining a small audience. Sure, said audience was pretty much just Eric and Owen, both actively pretending to not be listening in on this shit, but he was still A Thing. "They give you a Carrier wife as a status symbol, what does it say if you can't publicly control your breed boy?"

"It says my partner isn't here to be pretty for other men and shouldn't have to show himself off for them-"

"Oh didn't you hear, Kyle? The shit that goes on at these parties? Swapping wives and handing unruly one's off to senior officers to get favor?"

Dove didn't insinuate that Kyle would do such a thing, not directly. And he knew, he really did, that Kyle wouldn't pass him around like a whore, but the words could not be gathered back in again, and they both knew it.

"...Dove, come on. I wanna speak to you alone," he said in a calm, low voice, and got up, passed Lani back to his mother, and took hold of Dovines hand, guiding him to a back dressing room.

Shit. Shit shit SHIT. This was so not what he wanted, he changed his mind, he didn't want to piss off his owner because now he was being dragged into a cubbyhole and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could or would do to stop this-!

"Dovine what is /wrong/?" Kyle demanded, grasping both of Dovines hands in his own after snapping the curtain shut, as though that would give them any real privacy.

Dovine struggled and stammered for words, his heart pounding in his throat.

"N...nothing, I'm fine, sweetie, I'm just tired-"

"No, Dove, that's bullshit and we both know it." Kyle's voice was intense, but he kept it low, so that anyone not behind their curtain would struggle to hear him. "You haven't been fine for weeks, not since the night at-"

"Yes Kyle I know when I lost my god damned mind!"

"You haven't lost your mind," he argued, struggling to keep his calm, a tone of voice that contrasted starkly with the assurances on his lips.

Dove shrugged, still picking agitatedly at his dress, which just seemed to frustrate Kyle all the more. He reached out to take Doves hands, but the Carrier winced at the harsh movement, sure he was about to be struck. As he peeked his eyes open again, to read Kyle's face, all he saw was hurt.

"....Kyle?"

"...Dove, my bird, when did you get scared of me?" He asked quietly, his voice quivering in such a way that he almost sounded ready to cry. 

"...I'm not scared of you. Kyle. I love you. You know how much I love you, I married you-!"

"Those aren't exclusive...Dove, baby, please. Are you...are you sick? Are you pregnant?"

"Not pregnant, Kyle. Finished my period two days ago, you know that Just cause a Carrier is upset doesn't always mean it's hormones,," he answered, looking away with shame ad he always did having to talk about these things with his husband, they differences between them.

"Then...then Dove, what happened?" Kyle begged his wife, squeezing his hands tighter. "What can I do to make it better?"

"You're fine, Kyle, it's not you-"

"Well it isn't you either, Dove! We..I...we're friends, aren't we?"

Dove shot him a queer look, perplexed and almost amused. "We're married, Kyle, we're married and fucking and trying for a baby-"

"But that's what we have to do, Dove. That's duty. Friendship isnt. I love you, and I want to learn to be in love with you, but that starts with being friends doesn't it?"

"...I guess," he said awkwardly, taking back one hand to mess with his skirt, and Kyle had to fight him to stop it.

"Well I guess too, Dove, and friends have to talk to each other, trust each other, especially friends with benefits, eh?"

Despite himself, Dove couldn't help but give a small smile. Friends with benefits huh? Pretty much. But it fell away almost immediately. 

"Trust goes both ways, Kyle, but it's not as easy on my end. You understand that don't you?"

Kyle nodded so earnestly that for a moment he reminded Dovine remarkably of their dog Cantaloupe, all big eyes and freckles. All he needed were dipey grey ears.

"I get it...or I'm trying at least, Dove...I don't know what's scaring you, or how I can help you trust me-"

"I told you, Kyle, it isn't you," Dove argued. He knew the agitation was rising in his voice again, but he didn't care. He seemed to have already forgotten the panic he felt just minutes ago being drug into the changing room. Warily he eyed the curtain, such a pretty orange brocade, wondering if there were listening ears nearby. Owen wasn't pregnant anymore, he had no qualms about kicking his ass-!

"Dove? Please...what can I do to make this better for you?"

He could almost laugh at this, he really could. Did he want that answer? He knew he didn't. Kyle Miller would be broken hearted knowing the answer, which should honestly be a comfort to Dove, but it only frustrates him further.

"I need...I need to know my boundaries," he whispered, still paranoid of being overheard. Kyle looked at him quizzically, tipping his head.

"Well...ok. I thought you were pretty open about that, Dove. We're monogamous, we agreed to not wait for a first baby, I know that no means no-"

"Not the boundaries I gave you," he hissed, wishing he could reach this itch on his back. "I mean, the boundaries I'm suppose to follow! I need to know what your rules are!"

Dove could punch that fucker in the face for looking so clueless! He was an officer, shouldn't he be brighter than that?! Feeling his own face heat up, Dove used his growing weariness to urge him on.

"You can't just keep pretending we're little kids playing house, ok? You own me, I was your reward for being a good military mutt, making good advances in your field- OUR field- and they expect submission and babies from me and increased devotion from you, so you can't just go around with your head in the clouds like you don't have to train me!"

There it was, there was the lightbulb going off in that pretty little stupid head of his.

"Dove...we don't have that kind of marriage," he started slowly, as though still convinced his bride was a little nuts. "We aren't Captain Demuir and Owen, ok? I don't wanna tell you how you have to dress to go out with your friends or take you over my knee if you talk back to me. That's not who we are-"

"But isn't it who we're suppose to be?!"

"In public? Yeah, I hope you'll be respectful and not act like a brat, but Dove, I own you in name only...shit, I don't even like saying that," he scowled, looking like the sentence left a sour taste in his mouth. "Dove, we're both old enough to remember our moms, ok? And I know your dad isn't great, but mine is, and he treated my mom like she was his everything. And if the law had changed and said she belonged to him, that wouldn't change anything about them. So why should it change me?" When Dove remained unconvinced, his husband tried a different tactic. 

"Ok. What if you hadn't changed. What if you got to be my age, and you got a Carrier bride, someone young and pretty and frightened. Would you beat him?"

Aghast, Dove tried to pull back. "Fuck no, I'm not -"

"But I am?"

And what could Dove even say? What was he suppose to day with two competing realities fucking up his brain? It was true that men were cruel, both to him, and to Carriers. But it was true that Kyle was a good man, gentle and loving. How could both coexist?

Wanting to turn away, wanting to hide his face, Dove looked down, but Kyle wasn't about that. He gently tipped Doves face up, coaxing him to look him in the eye, and with two soft fingers from his other hand he tapped Doves cheek, barely enough to even make a sound. Dove could hardly feel it.

"There. You can rest easy now, huh? Your husband finally hit you, you can get all that stored up panic out of your system now...shit, Dove, I'm sorry, did that actually hurt?!"

Did that...was he serious?? Did that fucking hurt...the change hurt, the terror at a traitorous body hurt. Jameson roaving eyes and sharp tongue, the lack of choice, those hurt. But his husbands touch against his cheek...no, he wasn't crying because he had been physically hurt by a brush to his cheek. He was crying because it had been far too damn long since he cried, and because it felt good to finally break down. Just a pity it has to happen in such a public place. There wasn't a chance in hell that Eric, Owen and baby Lani weren't hovering about. Shit, that Carrier shop attendant was probably there too, he looked like he loved a good gossip!

"Dovine, honey-"

"I'm sorry, I'm fine !" Dove tried to argue, but the tears streaming down his face didn't exactly give off an air of collection and calm. "I'm just...I'm tired. Everything's just so much right now."

Kyle nodded, pulling Dove into his arms, letting him bury his face to his shoulder.

"Ok, ok, shh, you're alright," he said lamely, trying to rub his back to sooth him. "Come on, Dove, its- you're ok...we're pk, you know that right ?"

It took him a moment, there was detonate hesitation, but finally Dove nodded.

"I know we are," he said, voice stuffed with snot. "I'm just...I'm scared all the time, Kyle."

"Of me?"

"No! ...yes? Of...of what they could allow you to be."

Kyle wrapped his arms tighter around his new partner, as though trying to shield him from the world as a whole, from a society that claimed love but offered only possession and control, and fear 

"That's ok...it's alright if you're scared of me sometimes, Dove. I know it's hard to trust...so how about, ah...shit, Dove, I'm an engineer, you know we suck with words."that got a light chuckle from him, at least. "How about we start one item at a time, ok? Like cleaning out a closet."

"How romantic."

"Dovine what did I just...really? Jesus. Ok, yeah, but it could work? If you're scared to trust me entirely yey, you can trust little things? Like that I appreciate the work you help me do."

Dove felt heat rise to his face, a rush of gratitude. The hour or so a day he got to spend going over Kyle's discs, adding to his code, jotting down notes, it let him pretend for just a bit that thins were normal, and nothing had changed. It set a sense of normality to his day that he craved.

"Yeah...I know."

"Excellent, that's a start huh? And we can go from there."

Dove sniffed again, wishing he had something to blow his nose on. "Go where though?"

"...well how about we start with this dress, huh?" 

Dove was listening now.

"We can get you out of that tight thing, get you fitted for a new suit? And no I don't care if it's not Carrier ideal. You'll look beautiful, you can do your makeup nice if you're afraid you won't look femme enough. But I want you to be happy, and comfortable...honey please don't cry again!"

Too late. Dove was too fucking done with any of this shit, and he just clung tighter to his husband, tired, worn out, embarrassed, knowing he'd have to go out there with a tear stained face and either own up to what happened or let the unassuming masses think he'd gotten a dollop of marital discipline. 

Well. He supposed he had, it was just a lot more gentle than he'd ever expected.


	44. Required Reading

"He's so funny lookin, I love him!"

"That what you said first time you saw Lani?

"No, I was too busy trying to remember how to breathe after fucking giving birth to say anything. And gotta admit this thing is cuter than Lani was when he was first born."

"Owen's right though, he's kinda goofy."

Eric couldn't deny their astute assessments, but he didn't give a shit. Their new cat was a little scruffed up and a little wonky, but he adored him anyway. Kharis and Eric had spent nearly an entire Sunday looking at shelters before running across Dust Bunny, a 7 year old fatass who resembled a wad of dryer lint forgotten in a corner of the laundry room for some time. Gray and mottled brown, he was technically called a tortie, and he had a look of perpetual Not Giving A Fuck on his face, complete with a bit of an underbite. Probably inbred, the employee had said, but healthy, neutered, and honestly a lazy fucking couch potato great for cuddling. And that much was true, considering he had 3 Carriers kneeling around him like second graders and he gave none shits. D.B., it seemed, rather liked the attention, his bottle brush tail flicking about lazily as they stroked down his frazzled fur.

It had been ages since the trio had any time alone, without the watchful eyes of their husbands or CEC guards. Owen's dad had taken Lani for a few hours to give momma some rest, which was sorely needed. Concealer just wasn't enough to cover up the dark circles under his eyes from 7 weeks sleep deprivation with a newborn. A sunny November lunch in Eric's backyard and an afternoon doing fuck all was exactly what he needed. And what Eric and Dove needed too, honestly. 

Their ban at the CEC had lifted sometime ago but they had gone back only with hesitancy, and not alone. It had not taken much begging at all for Kharis to agree to tag along, bring his laptop, get some work done in the lobby. He was the fucking general, he could be where he pleased, for the most part, and Eric just felt safer knowing his husband was within shouting distance. Indeed, Jameson seemed to know better than to act on his based impulses with Page so nearby, but it only calmed his anxieties so much. It was great being around the other Carriers for a while, being in the dorms felt like coming home, but the captain's ever looking presence was unshakeable, and their visits were brief and infrequent for it. So having them over at home, with sweet tea and Dove's cookies and a new cat, was so, so much better.

"Dusty, baby boy, look!" Dove chirped, trying to get the cat interested in a feathered lure toy dancing around his head. Dust Bunny, comfy on his side, made a halfhearted bat with one paw and then couldn't be assed to go any further with it.

"...this is why you're fat."

"Don't fat shame my cat, Dove," Eric laughed, reaching over to scratch at D.B.s admittedly round belly, only to be swiftly rewarded by four sets of claws going straight for his hand. 

"Shit, it's a trick, it's all lies," he cursed as he tried to grab his hand back as the feline kicked his back legs erratically, hell bent on disemboweling Eric's wrist. Barely making it out alive, Eric surveyed his new cuts and scratches, noting with relief that only two seemed to be bleeding.

He turned his own glaring brown eyes at the fluffed offender, nursing his battle scars.

"You're lucky you're cute, you lil shit."

"That what you're gonna say once your first kid starts tearing up shit?" Owen asked smugly, turning the tides back onto his friend. 

Eric appraised Owen for a short moment, decided 7 weeks was long enough since giving birth, and smacked that little shit upside the head. It was good to have an afternoon of normalcy.

)))(((

"Alright, and who's this one?"

Eric looked up from the dish in his hand, drying their bowls from that night supper.

"Oh, that one's a senator, um...Senator Rodriguez?"

"Good, what party?"

"Unionist Peoples party, he's a secularist."

"Excellent, I have a clever wife."

Eric smiled, quite pleased with himself, and put his plate down on the small stack he had been accumulating.

Only 6, and it was dark outside, nights coming early in a prairie fall, and the two were warm against the chilly wind in their kitchen, Kharis quizzing Eric since dinner on the many guests he would encounter at Major Frosts retirement party the following Saturday. Military experts, politicians, environmentalists and steel tycoons alike; Frost, it seemed, was a well liked man with a far reach, and this was going to be the perfect time for Eric to make a debut. 

"I still don't get it entirely, Kharis," he admitted shyly, working out a stubborn spot on a glass. "This is going to have officers from, like, 3 states right? Major General is high, but you won't exactly outrank everyone there like you do here."

Kharis nodded absently, bringing up another profile.

"No, I won't be," he admitted. "But rank isn't everything. I'll be fairly middle of the road in terms of high brass alone but my name carries a fair bit of clout, honestly. Residual fame, hopefully a fair bit of respect. You're too young to remember, but it was quite a media spectacle when we came home from Shanghai. Everyone needed something to be happy about for five minutes back then. Most civilians forgot the details and titles quick enough, but in military circles I'm still...recognized."

Eric thought his husband seemed less than fucking thrilled about this, and he couldn't blame him. It may be on a far smaller scale than what Kharis went through, but Eric could relate to everyone's praise and opinion of him being linked back to the most traumatic time of his life. 

Carefully he picked up his stack of plates to lift them into the cupboard, wiping his hands dry on his apron. 

"This one next, Eric."

"...um...he's a doctor isn't he?"

"No, not this one."

"...General Hashimoto? That's ah, Lieutenant General, a rank above you."

"Bingo. Now, he's very traditional, old school. I would rather you not chat too long with him if possible...definitely don't wander off alone with him."

"Isn't that a given at a party, Kharis?" Asked Eric with a bit more sass than he intended, and he dampened it with a sweet smile. His books said that a bit of attitude could be cheeky and adorable but too much would annoy his husband.

Kharis didn't seem to notice at all. "Well, yes, to a degree. But you will have plenty of your friends there. I would say ⅔ of these men have Carrier brides, and there's safety in numbers. Marco will be there, Teagan and Miller too. There are plenty of men to keep watch over you."

Less than a year ago, Eric attended his last party as a boy, at least a boy by definition of the world. New years eve out in the sticks. Fireworks, sparklers, a few stolen beers from their dads. They played music from truck radios in the river bed, they kissed other boys in the shadows around a bonfire, lips not so cold pressed to another, hands finding their way through coats and sweaters in an awkward teenage fumble. They shot off bottle rockets at midnight, welcoming in 2090. No chaperones. No one there to hurt him. No risk of a quick fuck turning into a teen pregnancy. Just a bunch of hick boys on winter break, the notion of the new year carrying graduation, careers, freedom-!

Eric raised a hand to his chest, trying to soothe away that sudden ache. What good was it, he asked himself again, to mourn life, when he had so much going for him now?...it just sounded so very...adult. which was ridiculous coming from an 18 year old married guy, very much an adult...mostly an adult…

"...I won't wander far," he promised Kharis, drying a handful of silverware before sliding them into the drawer. He knew the promise would soothe his husband, and indeed, he smiled appreciatively. 

"Hm. Ok, now who's this?"

Eric peered at the old man on the screen, scoffing

"Old as he is? Course that's Frost, the guy retiring."

"Excellent. Now he might not be in service after this but he's a general, full stop, no modifiers. That's two ranks above me. Even retired he's gonna have a lot of clout, ok?"

"He gonna gossip to his buddies over rounds of golf?"

Taking his own turn to stare at the screen, Kharis's lip slowly curled into a doubtful grimace.

"Eric I think a long walk across the green might end in a coronary for him," he said dryly, preening slightly at his wife's laughter. "But same concept, yes. It would be quite good to make an impression on him. Now, you've got a beautiful dress, a charming smile, the prettiest eyes at this gala-"

"Kharis if you want a blow job tonight all you gotta do is ask."

"...Eric don't distract me while we're working," Kharis said after a moment with firm resolve but darkened cheeks. "I just want you to be ready, ok? I know we talked about this before we got married, and we're still on the same page, aren't we?"

Eric nodded. He untied his apron, hanging it on the knob of a cabinet door, and slipped into a bar stool next to Kharis, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

"Of course...Kharis, I want things to get better for us, for men like me. And if you really think we can..that I can make any difference, I at least wanna try…"

Kharis slipped his arm behind Eric's shoulders, letting him lie his head to his chest.

"You don't sound so confident honey, that's all. I know I'm making this sound like a big deal, it's just that first impressions are very important. I'm sure they'll find you darling, if they have any sense at all-"

"We just gotta make sure charming can translate into cunning," Eric said with a nervous grin, shrugging away from his husbands hold. "Kharis? ...do you really think we could get them to change the curriculum at Stillwater?"

Kharis nodded, firm but controlled, trying, it seemed, to not be over eager.

"If I didn't think it possible, Eeic, I wouldn't be training you up and setting these expectations. That would be cruel," he began, turning his face back to the glow of the screen, scrolling down through profiles of officers active in the unions Nebraska forts. "But it's not as easy as just hiring new teachers or buying new books. CECs are federal institutions; I can manage, hire or fire staff, I can make plans for a larger rec area or a wider curriculum but what we teach is government funded. Some from the top, some on state or county level. And, the money has to come from somewhere, if it doesn't come from the Union treasury."

"So that's why I need to be sweet and charming but smart, sing the praises of our art and poetry classes, and bemoan how I don't feel as healthy as when I could play as many sports," Eric interjected, summing up Kharis's lessons with an achingly sugary voice, smirking at Kharis's grin.

"Do tell that you will be more subtle about your intentions," he chuckled, and Eric only grinned teasingly.

"Course, Kharis. I'm good with words, thanks to Poetry class with Mrs. Lynn."

"That's my darling. You're gonna win over some rich bastard for me right? What's goal number one this time?"

'We want to extend the courtship period to 16 months instead of a year and a day, and set up a minimum time of 4 months at Stillwater before a Carrier is eligible to date."

"Why?"

"Because I'm still not over my trauma at being told I have to get married as soon as I bled out my vagina? I'm kidding-!" He swore, slipping aside before Kharis could smack his shoulder. "It's cause having more time to adjust and get to know a man will result in calmer Carriers who have easier pregnancies, and we're scared to get pregnant so soon cause were still changing...you guys think it's like a one time deal after we're out of the hospital but it's really not, you know," he pressed on, clearly on a tangent now. "It's been 9 months and my hips still fucking hurt, I notice new stretch marks, like, every week. And my hormones still don't know what the fuck I'm suppose to be half the time, whether to make me ovulate or make me hungry, and that's not even started on how-...I. shit, I'm sorry Kharis," he finished with a sigh and a deep flush, embarrassed at hisblittlw tyrade. "I guess I got off topic."

"Honey no." Kharis said softly, shaking his head, loose curls swaying as he did so. "I...you know I want you to tell me these things don't you? I know a lot of what you're going through is personal, and if you don't want to share you don't have to, but we're married. You don't need to feel embarrassed to tell me if youre hurting or if things are changing in ways you didn't-"

"Totally, I get it, Ris," Eric said quickly, cutting him off with what he hoped was a calming smile. "I know I can talk to you."

Actually the idea of sharing these details felt far too subversive, too intimate. Just because Kharis fucked him on the regular didn't mean Eric was ready to tell him about his period cramps or how anxious he was about having an ugly belly after pregnancy. Besides, he'd be grossed out if Eric was that up front and honest. He'd see him as less alluring, more human, more flawed. Kharis would be less satisfied and enamored and unsatisfied men wandered and turned cold to their wives.

At least, that's what his books said.

He could tell Kharis read between his words well, but was quiet. Only 2 months into marriage and they still weren't sure, always, what issues should be pressed, which direction their partner could be lead before they balked.

"...alright, my love. I know when you feel you can talk, you will."

And Eric knew that invitation was extended to far more than passing issues of self esteem. He shrugged, diffusing the tension with a kiss to his husband's cheek, trying his most feminine smile on for size.

"You're so sweet to me, Kharis. Too much."

The smile he got in return was charming, warm, but almost melancholy, as he gave a kiss to Erics brow, like for like.

"Not enough, Eric, I feel. Not enough."

)))(((

Eric Page didn't intend to have a meltdown the night before the gala, he really didn't. He just wanted to have a nice long soak, he wanted to use bath oil and make his skin soft, he wanted to practice something nice to do with his boy-short hair. He really didn't intend to implode, he swore, but see, just...trying to decide whether or not to shave his legs was really, really hard!

All the magazines took it for granted that Carriers would shave their legs. Underarms too, and between their legs. Eric did about 10% of that, choosing to trim a little downstairs and that was pretty much it. Shaving under his arms made him feel wetter, sweatier, and he got itchy, red bumps when he tried, no matter how much soothing oatmeal lotion he used. But legs, all the first timers articles said, were much easier. The skin was tougher, less prone to all that muck. He had shaving cream, he had a fresh razor, he was all set to do it...but it just felt wrong.

'Your dress reached your ankles anyway,' he argued with himself, 'nobody will ever see your legs...but maybe Kharis would like my legs smooth?' He had a very vivid image, suddenly, of his legs over Kharis's shoulders, callused hands against smooth skin as he ate him out. This did nothing to aid his choice, only for him to feel suddenly warm between his thighs. Shit.

His books...always back to those books...they took it for granted too, that he would shave. It was feminine and comely and not something men did, and the world was desperate to divide men and Carriers as far as possible...well fuck that! Eric was a boy and it wasn't the norm of boys in his culture to shave! If they wanted to they could, and if he wanted to he could, but he didn't want to! He'd keep his legs as hairy as mother nature would allow! Fuck this shit, oppressive cocksuckers-

Although maybe the feel of it against the satin lining of his gown would feel good, and inspire...what did that book say, an air of demure, effeminate grace? He'd highlighted the chapter, about how dressing like one's station would make him want to live up to said station. Like children playing dress up, he supposed, the idea deflating like a 2 day party balloon. Why was this so hard? It fucking shouldn't be. This should be simple, to have hair or not?? It wasn't hard, it wasn't life or death, damn it...so why did it feel like so much hung on this?

And that was where Kharis found him, sitting on the edge of the tub, stopped and filled with a few inches of warm water, soaking his feet in it and glaring at a gray 3 blade razor like it just insulted his father's honor.

"...am I interrupting something, love?" He asked quietly, and Eric just continued to sulk at the handheld chunk of aesthetic annihilation.

"I just can't fucking decide if I should fucking shave my fucking hairy legs or just march out there the way nature fucking intended!"

"...well that's colorful," he remarked with a cautious hesitancy, easing his body slowly into the bathroom with his bride. "Well, are you afraid of cutting yourself? I know you use a cream on your cheeks instead of shaving-"

"Yeah because I never got enough hair to bother with a razor there, Kharis!" 

Eric winced at his own tone, knowing it was harsh and bitchy but not caring much. He was feeling far too frustrated with this simple task and the fact that he was frustrated was only frustrating him more! But Kharis, bless him, just took a slow breath and nodded. 

"Sure, sure...is that coming up again, baby? How you feel about changing so young?"

"No!" Eric snapped instantly, and then growled, pressing his hands to his eyes. "I mean yes, always, forever, welcome to marriage, but no, it's not that, it's just...being a Carrier sucks, Kharis."

Though he stood nearly behind him, Eric could see his husband in the large bathroom mirror that ran nearly the length of the room, and could see his face fall slightly before taking on the stoic, neutral mask he so often wore during trying times.

"Sure, baby, I...I'm sure it's going to be something that tests you throughout your life. If there's something particular bothering you right now we can-"

"Did you /not/ just hear my fucking thesis about my legs?!"

"I did, Eric, do you want to help me understand what it is about shaving your legs that has triggered such a stressful evening for you?"

Ah, there or was, his general's tone, edging in on tired but still holding his patience well.

Eric just groaned, splashing one foot in the water almost childishly, but he couldn't help it. He had so much nervous energy brewing up right now with no outlet.

"I don't...I don't wanna shave my legs."

"Then don't," said Kharis simply, as though that were an easy decision, as though it were not merely the visible layers of ice atop a veritable glacier of slippery gender expectations.

"But people expect me to!"

"Who does?" Kharis wanted to know, sliding in slowly, bare feet silent on the bathroom tile. Then, with a small edge of worry in his voice he asked, "who should be so concerned about your body as to be telling you what to do with it? Because if anyone is trying to pry like that let me know so I can have them get acquainted with my .45-"

"It's my fucking books, Kharis!" Eric spat, increasingly incensed with how the head of his home wasn't keeping up here. Spurred on by his shocked and clueless expression, Eric picked up momentum on his tirade. "All the books I got in school and counseling on how to be a good Carrier and a good wife! They say I should be clean and smoothed and be growing my hair out ...I mean my head hair, not my leg hair, but I don't /care/ about my hair, Kharis, why can't I just keep my legs fucking hairy like a boys?!"

Kharis's features, still so neutral and restrained, now carried upon them a look that asked quite clearly, are you done? Determining his bride was, in fact, done, Kharis nodded once and then asked, "Eric, what books?"

Was he not even fucking -?!

"My...my books," he supplied vaguely. "The one's Taylor gave me...gives all of us, to help us..." He squirmed underneath his husbands look, the general more than a little bit impatient as he silently waited for more information to be supplied. "Come on, I know they gave you books and brochures and shit when we for engaged."

Kharis nodded slowly, never taking his dark eyes off Eric.

"They did. Actually they started in on them as soon as I was cleared to court a Carrier to find a wife. Drivel about how to keep you in line, deal with Carrier hysterics and how to properly spank or slap you to not leave bruises. I'm not a fan of government literature on marriage, Eric, and I hope you have not fallen into some trap about it either."

The water sloshed and sparkled around his still hirsute ankles as he gave another meandering kick

"It's different for us, Kharis. We have to relearn everything, we're suppose to learn etiquette as a whole other sex-"

"Why?"

"Because I /am/ a different sex!"

Kharis considered this, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter.

"Back then, before, there was a growing understanding that sex and gender were not as synonymous as we often believed," he pointed out, and waited for Eric to comment. When there was none, he got more direct. "I want you to bring me these books you've been studying, Eric."

...shit. no, Eric would rather not, thanks.

"They're private, " he argued, and Kharis didn't react. "I write stuff down...and you're not the kind to go through my things to spy." 'Are you?' Were words implied but remaining unsaid.

Of course Kharis nodded his agreement to that.

"I'm not entitled to your thoughts any more than I am entitled to your body, Eric, but as your spouse I am entitled to know about your health and well being. You'll give me a list of titles and authors, then."

This wasn't going where Eric had thought his night would go, and he splashed again, hard enough to leave droplets sticking to his warm face.

"Why?"

"Because I don't think I like the ideas they're forcing into your head."

"I'm not at the CEC anymore, Kharis. Nobody is making me read it."

A smile almost reached his lips, though one without much humor.

"Perhaps no one real, but Big Brother is quite the all consuming presence isn't it?"

Eric didn't even know what that was suppose to mean! "Its nothing, Kharis. They're just books about how to wear natori and deal with morning sickness. Carrier stuff."

"Carrier stuff usually entails a lot more than just wearing makeup and swaddling a baby, Eric" Kharis said darkly, eyes narrow. "I'm around men all day, those with wives and those to whom wives are a trophy to be won. I know what the world expects of Carriers. I don't want you reading those books."

Oh, that was rich, and Eric saw his perfect shot.

"You don't want to /allow/ me to read a book I chose to read myself?" He crowed, awfully proud for someone playing in 3 inches of cold water. "Isn't that counter intuitive, my husband?"

Now Eric would never describe any look of Khariss as appearing close to smacking his wife, but he sure looked a mix of too tired and perturbed for a moment. Check!

"You conniving little shit," he swore, but Eric could hear the bite of admiration in his voice...followed by a very calm and satisfied look. "Alright then, we will buy new copies and read them together," he decided simply. "You get what you want, I get what I want. Perfect marital harmony."

...Eric wanted to just drown himself in his maybe-shaving water right now, and he must have looked it, because Kharis drew close, sitting beside him on the tub edge, facing out while Eric faced in.   
"Sweetie, drain the tub, dry off. Put on some lotion if you want to feel pretty or feminine. You know you don't want to shave your legs."

...he didn't, no, but that didn't absolve him of the guilt of feeling like he /should/ want to shave his legs.

"...sorry. I just...I wanna make a good impression tomorrow night. I know it's important, I wanna help…"

"Darling what help will shaved legs have underneath a full length gown on a married man?" Kharis wanted to know, though as soon as he said it Eric could tell he felt tension. It all but crackled between them, and Kharis was quick to add, "and if anyone wants you to make that good of an impression you tell me. I meant it about the .45-"

"/Khar-riis!" He groaned, tired of his bad jokes reminding him of his dad. Yuck. "Nobody is...I mean, it's not like I'm gonna go around flashing my illegal ankles like a Victorian harlot," he sighed, finally taking Kharis's instructions and unplugging the drain. "But I mean...like...if you needed...if we needed me to be a little flirty, or to show a little skin…"

"...Eric I'm not kidding, I want that list tonight." He repeated, sounding far more serious than Eric had any god damned time for. He just rolled his eyes, making some noncommittal gestures...all the same, he tipped his head sideways to lay on Kharis's shoulder.

"...i'm just saying. I mean. I've heard how these big officers parties can get. They're in hotels, convention centers, there's rooms to go into. I know some people trade their wives around."

To his horror but not his surprise, Kharis didn't argue against this.

"Some do," he conceded quietly. "That's Carrier law in action, of course. You can do as you wish with property you own, but pray tell I don't have to remind you we aren't the Unions ideal couple."

"I know," Eric supplied quickly, so nervous about being misread. "And I know that you wouldn't ask me to go fuck another guy, they're all gross anyway...but if someone liked young, pretty blonde Carriers and you wanted me to smile a little more or flirt a little...if it could help, I would."

Glancing sideways, Eric struggled to read his husbands face, but it was not always an easy task. Though he could be as joyful as a child or sarcastic to a fault, General Pages main setting was placid, stoic and neutral, eyes steady and far off as he took in Eric's words.

"...there are things in this world Eric that could be worth such measures," he finally said, a brush of military instruction peeping into his voice. "But one does not storm across front lines when diversion tactics will suffice. I don't fancy the notion of my brand new wife having to make himself a plaything to men just to get a little money-"

"Eugh, you make it sound like prostitution, Kharis," he groaned, shivering once, legs still wet in the empty tub. "It's not like that. It's money for important shit, like building new dorms, right? Hiring more teachers so we can have some real classes? I'd be willing to do that!"

"...let's cross that bridge when we get to it," Kharis finally sighed, and leaned forward to grab Eric's green towel off the rack. "Dry yourself, put on some pajamas, come to bed."

Eric took the towel and swivemed himself out of the tub, now sitting in the same direction as Kharis. Never one to pass up an opportunity to be a little shit or defuse an awkward situation, he couldn't help but smart off.

"Aw, all that talk of me sleeping around with other men got you all hot and bothered, Ris? Can't wait to get me between the sheets now?"

"Only to remind you who you belong to," Kharis purred back immediately, and right after his eyes widened in horror at the implications of what he'd just said. "Not like that, Eric, you know I don't...it's just something playful to say-!"

But Eric was too busy deciding between wanting to laugh his ass off and jump Kharis right there in the bath to even /pretend/ to be offended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone thanks for reading! I know updates aren't coming as quick as during early summer but I hope y'all are still sticking around!


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